


Stranglehold

by leftfoottrapped (miikkaa_xx)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 17:51:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9835655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miikkaa_xx/pseuds/leftfoottrapped
Summary: Arranged Marriage!AU. When a Seoul bank merges with one from Qingdao, Tao finds himself married to Chen, who would be the perfect husband if he didn’t seem to have so many secrets.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **warnings:** language, possessiveness, unhealthy relationship dynamics, explicit sex, including: sex toys, dirty talk, face-fucking, semi-public sex, blindfolds, comeplay, gunplay, dubious consent
> 
> **notes:** for the sake of this fic (and my sanity), please just assume taochen are fluently bilingual

-

There are a lot of things Zitao would have thought would happen in his life before he’d ever end up married and in a hotel bathroom fumbling with lube and an anal plug.

For one, he didn’t think he’d end up married in Seoul. His family had flown in three days previous and spent most of the time touristing while him and Yixing sat in the hotel trying to research his future in-laws.

‘At least they’re all good-looking,’ says Yixing at one point, scrolling through a profile of the four eligible bachelors of the Kim conglomerate. ‘Minseok - the eldest. I like him best.’ He hums, pursing his mouth in thought. ‘Jongin is too young, he’s still in school,’ and points to the two middle names: Junmyeon and Jongdae, ‘I think yours is one of these two.’

When they had arrived at the airport - Zitao’s few dozen blood relatives and Yixing - Zitao had been singled out to have a bodyguard-cum-tour guide provided by the Kim clan.

‘I’m Sehun,’ he says - tall, blonde, sulky.

Technically, Sehun is staying in the room beside Zitao, but Yixing and him convince Sehun to be in the same room as them more often than not through offers of hotel food service if only to interrogate him afterwards.

‘Honestly, I don’t know,’ he says, exasperated. ‘I work directly under Minseok-hyung and he doesn’t talk much about _anything_.’

Nevertheless, at least they manage a general overview of the Kim conglomerate. Minseok is the head of security, Junmyeon is a Vice President-in-training, Jongdae is associated with public relations, and Jongin is pushing through university. The conglomerate is primarily a bank, had asked to merge with Zitao’s family’s company in order to branch out overseas into China, hopefully Hong Kong and Taiwan afterwards. The marriage was to officiate the merger and make sure the companies would still be kept within the family - after all, Zitao refused to be potentially cut out of his own inheritance.

Of course, the Kim family had decided they would take care of the whole wedding, paid for hotels and flight tickets for the Huang clan, and in the flurry of business negotiations and travelling, a singular important detail had seemingly been left out - the name of the heir getting married to Zitao.

Which brings him back here - in a hotel bathroom, talking to Yixing through the door. ‘I got married three hours ago.’

‘Yes, you did,’ confirms Yixing. He was the one that helped Zitao dress into his finely-cut suit this morning after all, nodded in approval as the personal stylist hired by the Kim clan had suddenly showed up to make sure Zitao looked his best. They had been efficient - outlined his features delicately with makeup, styled his hair soft and boyish, made sure all accessories had matched. Even Sehun had raised his eyebrows when he saw Zitao, said, ‘you look good,’ in a quiet, surprised voice.

The actual ceremony involved Zitao walking down the aisle, not knowing exactly what to feel when he finally recognizes who is standing there waiting. The third heir, Kim Jongdae, doesn’t even blink as vows are exchanged, his small hands steady with the ring, his voice low as he agrees. At the end, Zitao lets him curl a hand around his neck and kiss the corner of his mouth, quick and warm. Then comes the seemingly endless parade of congratulations and pictures of the both of them, arm in arm, until finally Sehun and Yixing had tugged him from the crowd and into the car to get back to the hotel.

‘I need to get ready for my wedding night,’ he says blankly, staring at his reflection in disbelief, as he puts the anal plug on the bathroom counter.

‘Do you need help?’ Yixing calls out.

‘ _No_ ,’ says Zitao, snapping out of his haze and finally shrugging off his clothes. ‘How much time till the reception?’

‘Sehun said he’d pick us up in two hours.’

Two hours to change into another outfit and to… stretch himself out. He doesn’t even know if they’ll have sex tonight but figures he should be prepared anyway, in case his husband was incompetent or impatient or gifted with too big of a dick or any number of possibilities that him and Yixing had ended up talking about one night at two in the morning.

Uncapping the lube, Zitao smears some on his fingers, tries to think of anything hot. His clean hand is propped up against the cool counter and he breathes, once, twice, as he reaches back to run his fingers along the soft skin of his perineum and finally settle at his hole. Okay - now think of something hot, something that wasn’t the confused knot in his stomach that kept him from getting off.

‘You’re awfully quiet in there, Taotao,’ singsongs Yixing, his voice coming closer to the door.

‘Xing-ge, please, I need to focus.’

‘Well, since we know who your husband is, I thought I’d look him up,’ continues Yixing, apparently unbothered. ‘Would you like to listen?’

Rolling his eyes, Zitao stares at his own reflection. ‘Sure.’ His fingers smear the lube over his hole in slow, concentric circles, feeling himself loosen up.

‘He’s most definitely rich,’ starts Yixing, his voice a pleasing cadence as Zitao relaxes and tries to slip the first finger inside himself. ‘Two years older than you and seems to hang out with Junmyeon the most when Junmyeon goes out to public meetings or press conferences. Once, the mic was still on when Minseok came over to talk to him, and everyone heard Minseok call him Chennie.’

Zitao bursts into a surprised laugh, cuts off into a gasp as he manages to slip his finger all the way inside. Exhaling, he works himself open in short push-pulls, letting the familiar feeling of being stretched slide under his skin.

‘You’ve married the one who visits the high-end casinos and clubs and gets speeding tickets at four in the morning.’

He shudders, breathing slow as he slides the second finger into himself, cock twitching in interest. ‘The troublemaker.’

Yixing makes a soft noise of agreement. ‘With a familial streak. He’s also the one who buys his brothers import cars and five star restaurants.’

Zitao moans then bites the inside of his cheek in embarrassment, ducking his head as he works his asshole open. He tries to bring back the image of Jongdae at the altar - dark hair, dark eyes, a mouth that curled at the corners - and finds himself mewling under his breath as his hips jerk down over his fingers. Maybe he had lucked out - a husband that wasn’t just attractive, but one that came with money he could throw around, that liked just enough risk for a little flavour.

Just like that, Zitao is pushing the third finger inside of his ass, mouth pressed to his arm to muffle his noises. His cock is half-hard but he can’t touch, not yet, and he feels his skin get hot to touch as he stretches himself out. It takes a few minutes before Zitao can’t stand it anymore, pulling out his hand to slick the plug with lube.

Carefully, he is sliding the plug into himself, moaning as his hole stretches along the widening curve, and almost slumps over when the base is nestled against his ass.

He was more than ready to take his new husband out for a ride.

-

The reception is dinner at a famous Chinese restaurant, and then a casual invite for drinks back at the newlyweds’ apartment.

While Zitao sits next to Jongdae the entire time, they barely converse - too occupied by fielding the several people wanting to talk to them, offering congratulations and asking about their plans. ‘Honeymoon in Jeju,’ replies Jongdae smoothly, ‘then back to Seoul and maybe even China if Zitao can teach me enough Mandarin.’

There’s laughter and Zitao smiles, plays the flattered spouse, even as he wonders if his entire future could fit into just a sentence, just like that.

The apartment turns out to be newly-bought and furnished - ‘a gift from Junmyeon-hyung,’ supplies Jongdae - and the bar comes fully-stocked. Remixed pop songs play from the speaker system, supplying enough innuendo and bassline for Zitao to remember the plug he still has in him, has him realizing, _oh_ , in a couple hours, he’s going to fuck a near-stranger in their new bed, and Zitao feels more anticipatory than scared.

By the time half the guests have left for the night, he vanishes in the bathroom for a moment - reapplies the lube so the plug can slide out of him smoothly, keep himself slick and stretched, ready for a cock to fuck into him easy and good. Just the thought of sex has the confusion and stress melting out from his shoulders, his spine, and pooling into his belly where it becomes a tight knot of _want_. That’s all he wants now - to get fucked, to just get out of his head and not _think_ for a while about where he’s just ended up - newly married to some stranger in the middle of Seoul.

Jongdae is patiently saying goodbye to the last few guests so Zitao figures he can stop charming strangers and head over to Yixing, who is seated on the couch with his phone out and Sehun leaning over him, talking and pointing at things on the screen.

‘What time is it even,’ whines Zitao, crashing his shoulder into Sehun’s, feeling Sehun catch him with an arm around his waist.

‘Half past one,’ says Yixing, turning around his phone to show a tourist map of Jeju island pulled up on the screen. ‘Look, Taotao, there’s horseback riding.’

Sehun points to a hotel along the coast. ‘Junmyeon-hyung books rooms at this place, so I think you’ll be staying here.’

‘The beach,’ Zitao sighs dreamily.

‘Should I follow you?’ Yixing asks.

He blinks and glances across the room at Jongdae, feels his heart thud loudly in his ears when he sees Jongdae has been watching him first. Zitao swallows, ducks his head back down, leans into Sehun. ‘I don’t know,’ he says, honest.

‘That would make Yixing-hyung a stalker,’ says Sehun. ‘Then I’d have to get rid of him.’

Yixing furrows his brow, turning back to his phone. ‘That would be a problem.’

‘Isn’t _Chennie_ going to bring anyone with him,’ sneers Zitao. ‘I think I’m allowed a friend.’

‘I’m not,’ cuts in Jongdae, sudden and loud that Zitao manages to shove himself closer to Sehun in surprise. ‘But if Zitao wants you to come…’

‘That’s fine,’ says Yixing, standing up and smiling politely. ‘I should be going now - we can talk later.’ He glances over at Zitao, flicking his eyes pointedly over at Sehun, and Zitao pulls away, letting Sehun’s arm around his waist drop.

‘Hyung,’ says Sehun, uncertain.

‘You can report back to Minseok-hyung,’ says Jongdae with an airy gesture. ‘Zitao won’t need a bodyguard while he’s with me.’

With a stiff nod, Sehun follows Yixing to the front door, slipping on his shoes. When Zitao looks around, he sees that everyone else is also gone - then the door clicks shut, it’s just them both and a rather spacious apartment in a high-rise, surrounded by empty glasses and miscellaneous trash, the music still playing in the background.

‘I’ll clean up,’ says Zitao, flinching when his voice comes out too loud. Jongdae seemingly ignores him and heads over to the TV stand, opening the glass cabinet and turning off the stereo system.

‘It’s fine, we can do it later,’ he says finally. ‘Do you want a drink?’

‘We still have anything left?’

‘Barely,’ he says with a small laugh, and the sound relaxes Zitao a little.

‘I’d rather save it then.’

Jongdae nods, stretching his arms above his head with a tired groan. ‘S’late, let’s just go to bed.’

Which is how Zitao finds himself sitting on the edge of the bed, unable to stop watching how Jongdae stands at the dresser, taking out his cufflinks, undoing the tie around his throat, sliding it out from his collar with a whisper of silk. He glances over his shoulder back at Zitao, raises his eyebrows. ‘Not going to change?’

If Zitao leans more of his weight against the bed, he can feel the plug inside of him shift, press deeper. Now that they’re alone and with a bed, the desperation from earlier comes rushing back, has Zitao wordless with how much he _wants_ , if only to get out of his head and stop thinking for a bit.

‘It’s,’ Zitao starts, stops, tries again, wetting his mouth. ‘It’s our first night.’

Jongdae’s eyes are dark, heavy. He turns around slowly, steps closer to Zitao. ‘It is.’

‘Should we - do we - want to?’

‘Want to what?’

It takes a moment for Zitao to spot the curl at the corner of Jongdae’s mouth, something that looks more teasing than serious, and he winds up huffing, petulant, ready to rescind the offer if he’s going to be teased.

Except Jongdae is already standing in front of him, managing to be the taller one while Zitao is still seated. His palm rests warmly along the side of Zitao’s throat, making him remember the wedding ceremony earlier - how their first kiss had been perfunctory, at best. Quick, chaste.

‘Lucky me,’ hums Jongdae, leaning in. ‘Got such a pretty wife.’

Zitao scowls, ‘I’m not your wife,’ and closes the gap himself, kissing Jongdae hard. Jongdae laughs into the kiss, meets Zitao’s eagerness with his own - not waiting before he’s licking into Zitao’s mouth, slick and messy and hot.

‘Fuck,’ says Zitao in a shuddering exhale when Jongdae pulls away, pushing at him to get on the bed.

‘Go,’ says Jongdae, leaning down and pulling off his socks. Zitao is already barefoot and scrambling backwards, falling back onto the soft duvet, feeling the give of the pillows underneath his head.

Then Jongdae is on top of him again, sucking on Zitao’s bottom lip, and Zitao is mewling as his hands claw into Jongdae’s biceps, keeping him close. He hears Jongdae growl, ‘take it off,’ against his mouth and Zitao is already pulling at his belt, shimmying his hips out of the slacks, doesn’t even pause as he drags his undershorts off too.

Jongdae is working at Zitao’s shirt, leaning back on his knees so Zitao can slip his arms out, and just like that Zitao is splayed out naked on the bed, the plug still inside his ass and making his cock twitch.

The last thing he expects is Jongdae to start laughing, dragging his gaze over Zitao’s body slow and intent. ‘You know how these used to go?’

‘These what?’ Zitao snaps, impatient, reaching out and snagging Jongdae’s shirt to pull him back down. Instead of a kiss, Jongdae drags his teeth down Zitao’s throat, hums when Zitao’s breath hitches, has him arching into the sensation.

‘Wedding nights,’ says Jongdae against Zitao’s collarbone, licking at the divot and sucking on his adam’s apple. ‘There’d be a bed and a paper screen.’

Zitao doesn’t think he cares about any of this but he’s too busy gasping to tell him to shut up as Jongdae leaves marks onto his skin.

‘If we were going to do this properly,’ he continues, thumbing at Zitao’s nipples to see him arch, ‘I’d have to fuck you in front of an audience.’

‘Would you like that better?’ Zitao asks in a moan as Jongdae bites at his nipple, tugs just a little sharply, just enough to have his cock half-hard between his thighs. ‘Wanna fuck me while people watch, Chennie?’

The nickname has Jongdae biting _harder_ , and Zitao bucks up as the pain goes straight to his dick, clawing his fingers into Jongdae’s shoulders from over his shirt. ‘Who even told you about that,’ says Jongdae, more exasperated than questioning as he moves down Zitao’s torso.

‘Xing-ge,’ replies Zitao, mouth dry as he watches Jongdae kiss his way across his stomach. ‘The internet.’

‘It’s a family nickname,’ he grouses before tugging on Zitao’s treasure trail with his teeth. Zitao whines - his cock is _right there_.

‘Fuck - good thing we’re married,’ he shoots back as hips tip upwards, feels Jongdae’s breath ghost over the head of his dick. ‘Fuck, please, Ch- _en_ \- ’

Jongdae slides his lips over Zitao’s cock slow and wet, tonguing along the underside, making Zitao mewl from the warmth and friction. He sucks slow - drags the pleasure out languidly as his hand strokes along the base - and pops off the crown to lick his way down to Zitao’s sac. Zitao shudders - anticipation ratcheting up his spine as his ass squeezes around the plug inside of him - but anything he was going to say dies in his throat when Jongdae sucks on his balls.

‘Chen, Chen,’ he babbles, one hand fisted into the duvet, the other sliding into Jongdae’s thick dark hair, messing up the styling. Jongdae pulls off with a filthy wet noise, looking up at him, waiting, and Zitao can’t reply, only spread his thighs further apart, planting his feet on the bed so he can lift up his ass, give Jongdae an eyeful of the plug at his hole.

‘ _Fuck_ ,’ he hears Jongdae say - low and rough - and whines for him to _do_ something. Jongdae hooks his fingers around the base, tugs until Zitao can feel his hole begin to stretch out around the curve of the plug. ‘How long have you had this in you? Tell me.’

‘After the ceremony, back at the hotel,’ he says, keening when Jongdae pushes the plug back inside, feeling how it settles so deep inside of him. ‘Wanted to be prepared.’

Jongdae pulls the plug out a little more this time, watching the way Zitao’s hole tightened and stretched all at once. ‘Are you always so…’

The plug is halfway out now and Zitao is whimpering, wanting it to fuck back into him already. ‘What,’ he gasps, toes curling into the duvet as his ass flutters around the widest part.

‘Such a slut,’ finishes Jongdae, pulling out the plug completely.

Zitao swallows to wet his dry mouth, his ass suddenly feeling empty. ‘No.’

‘Then what’s this?’ Tossing the plug aside, Jongdae slides two fingers inside of Zitao’s hole, spreading them apart so that Zitao chokes on his breath. ‘Didn’t even want to wait for prep to get a cock in you.’

‘Th-Thought you might not know how,’ he snaps, shivering as Jongdae starts to pump his fingers slow and deep, knuckles catching along the rim to make him stretch even wider. ‘Ah - _ah_ , fuck.’

‘I could fuck you like this,’ says Jongdae, voice low, a third finger pushing into Zitao’s ass, filling him up. The stretch burns through Zitao, gets him even hotter with want, as he listens to the words. ‘Yeah - just like this, with you naked on my bed and your ass around my cock, getting me to fuck you without even taking off my clothes.’

‘Do it, just do it,’ rambles Zitao, trying to keep his eyes open even as he feels his hole stretched further and further apart, wider than the plug had been. Both his hands are clutching the duvet, pushing down on the bed so his hips tip upward, invite Jongdae’s fingers just that much deeper into him. ‘Fuck me - _ah_ , Ch- _en_ , don’t you want to fuck me?’

Jongdae groans from the back of his throat and Zitao can’t help but shudder at the sound, more than ready. The fingers in his ass finally pull out, leave him feeling empty, but Zitao gets to watch Jongdae’s small hands tug hard, purposeful, at his belt, the zip of his dress pants.

The pause has Zitao noticing - for the first time - how the button-up shirt is stretched out over Jongdae’s shoulders, how it hugs his chest and follows the line of his torso to disappear under the waistband of his pants. If he wasn’t already so keyed up, he’d reach up, pop the buttons of the dress shirt, drag Jongdae’s naked skin against his own - but later, later.

Now Jongdae was shoving the open fly of his pants apart, getting his cock out, and even in the dim lighting of the bedroom Zitao can see it - a thick, fat piece, ready to split him apart. His ass tightens in anticipation.

‘Lube - ’

‘ _Spit_ ,’ says Zitao, insistent. Jongdae watches him for a long second, his mouth curling into a smirk, before he spits into his palm, jerks his cock a few times. Then he’s pressing his cock against Zitao’s hole and Zitao exhales as he feels Jongdae push into him careful and slow.

‘Shit,’ murmurs Jongdae under his breath, almost disbelieving, as Zitao takes the head of his cock and some more too. ‘Feel that?’

Zitao opens his mouth to reply but he can’t - not when Jongdae pushes in _more_ and Zitao realizes how fucking _thick_ his cock is, how it’s spreading his ass wide, making him take it with that sweet burn of being pushed to the limit. ‘Ch-en, Chen, Chen - ’

‘That’s it,’ he coos, fingers gripping Zitao’s hips, lifting his ass up to get balls-deep, the open fly rubbing up against the back of Zitao’s thighs. ‘Look so fucking good taking my dick all the way.’ Zitao chokes on his breath, ass clenching hard around Jongdae’s cock, and Jongdae groans in approval, grinding against Zitao’s hole in slow circles. ‘Feel so tight and perfect too.’

‘Chen,’ says Zitao, but he doesn’t know what to say, all his attention narrowed down to how Jongdae’s dick is stretching him wide, the crown already pushing up against his prostate so he can feel a spark of pleasure every time he even breathes. ‘Chen - Chen - ’

‘Zitao,’ replies Jongdae, voice low, rough, but present and grounding so that Zitao flails a hand out, fingers catching over Jongdae’s shoulder to hold on, suddenly glad he’s still dressed so Zitao can grab his shirt. Of course, the sudden gesture only has Jongdae’s cock shifting _deeper_ , sliding _hard_ over Zitao’s prostate, so that Zitao chokes on a moan. ‘We’ll have to buy you a bigger plug.’

‘ _Fuck_ \- ’ Zitao whines, letting go of Jongdae’s shirt so his arms collapse above his head, fingers scrabbling against the headboard. Eventually he manages a grip, gives him enough time to get used to how fucking _full_ he feels. Between his open thighs, Jongdae is looking at him, eyes dark and mouth curled into a smirk, and Zitao wants to see his expression slip. ‘Fuck me, _husband_.’

‘Of course.’ Jongdae pulls back and rocks in, keeping his thrusts small, but Zitao’s breath still catches as he feels the thickness ride up over his prostate. Clutching at the headboard, Zitao tries to ride back, get Jongdae to fuck a little harder, and doesn’t expect Jongdae to still entirely. ‘Stop.’

With a huff, Zitao obeys, at least pleased that the smirk is gone from Jongdae’s mouth. ‘You want it hard?’ He snaps his hips forward, has Zitao mewling in surprise and pleasure when Jongdae’s thick cock drives into him. ‘And you say you’re not a slut?’

Zitao wants to scowl, to snap back at him - but he can’t when Jongdae is holding onto his hips and railing into him. His cock works open Zitao’s hole with each fuck, stretching him open so that Zitao feels himself melting into the bed with how hot it feels. Jongdae doesn’t even have to _try_ to aim for Zitao’s prostate, not when his fat dick rides against the sweet spot every time Jongdae fucks him.

He’s mewling, moaning, his voice hitching in pitch as Jongdae works his ass, fucks him hard and deep so that Zitao can’t even think of anything that isn’t how good it feels to be opened up and taken. The headboard indents his palms but he doesn’t let go, arms straining to keep himself arched so that Jongdae’s cock can slam into him that much deeper.

Suddenly Jongdae stops, pulling his cock out. Zitao whines at the emptiness, blinking up at Jongdae, but Jongdae is busy unbuttoning his shirt. ‘Turn around,’ he says. ‘I want to fuck you on your hands and knees.’

Zitao’s not picky - knows he’ll get Jongdae’s cock even harder this way. Behind him, he can hear the rustle of clothes and figures Jongdae’s was done with trying to fuck with his clothes on. Less than a minute later, Jongdae’s hands are on Zitao’s hips and his cock is pushing back inside, a smooth slide that Zitao echoes out in a long, drawn out moan.

‘So fucking hot,’ he hears Jongdae groan before he pulls out and nails in, jerking Zitao forward. Immediately, Zitao is clutching at the pillows, bracing himself as he gets fucked _hard_ , all his sounds accompanied by the slap of Jongdae’s balls against his ass. His own cock is leaking and hard between his thighs, spitting precome every time Jongdae drives into him, his dick pushing up into Zitao’s prostate so all he can do is moan and take it.

He drops his hand between his legs, tugging at his cock, and feels Jongdae’s nails go sharp, digging into his hips. Still, Jongdae only moans, doesn’t stop him, and Zitao can’t help it anymore. He can’t think of anything except how Jongdae is fucking him, splitting his ass with his thick cock, how his hole feels so warm and slutty when he takes each of Jongdae’s thrusts with ease. Mewling, Zitao tugs at his own cock, frantic and haphazard, just wanting friction on his dick as his orgasm builds up in his balls.

‘Fuck, fuck, Chen - ’ Zitao blurts, his palm wet with his own precome as he keeps jerking himself off, feeling the pleasure meld with how Jongdae’s cock slams into his prostate with each thrust. It feels so fucking good - better than he’s ever been fucked before - and Zitao is too close to even manage a warning before he’s coming with a wail, shooting his load over the duvet.

Jongdae fucks him through his orgasm, doesn’t let up until Zitao is empty and shuddering, his voice breaking. He almost collapses when he feels Jongdae’s weight over him, hips pressed tight against Zitao’s ass so his thrusts are sharp and deep, making Zitao hiccup with moans. ‘Tao,’ groans Jongdae, his breath hot against Zitao’s nape, and Zitao can’t help it - looks back over his shoulder, meets Jongdae’s gaze with his own.

It’s enough; Jongdae comes, lashes fluttering and mouth dropped open in a low, loud noise that settles deep into Zitao’s belly, would make his cock twitch if it still wasn’t so oversensitive. He can feel the sharpness of Jongdae’s hips against his ass, the way his thighs clench as he pumps his come inside, and Zitao presses his face into the pillow as he pushes his ass back, takes it all with a muffled moan.

It takes a minute for Jongdae to soften, pull out. He’s slow and careful, hands sweeping in repetitive strokes along Zitao’s spine, his sides. It’s warm, soothing, has him coming down from his high to relax into the bed.

Sleepily, he can feel the blanket be tugged out underneath him, pulled over top instead, and the dip of the bed when Jongdae settles beside him. He’s warm and well-fucked now - can’t think of anything that isn’t how good he feels, how relaxed, not even minding the slow seep of Jongdae’s warm come along the inside of his thigh.

Zitao reaches out and curls his arms around Jongdae, makes a pleased sound when Jongdae’s initial resistance melts out of him and he lets himself be dragged closer into Zitao. It would be the price to pay, decides Zitao. The least Jongdae could do was be little spoon if he was going to come inside of Zitao’s ass.

With that, he sleeps, and it’s warm. It’s good.

-

The morning is bright, annoying - the blinds are half-open and the light pools in to wake them both up only a couple hours later. Zitao grumbles, pulling the blanket over his head, blinking blearily at his new husband sleeping on his stomach beside him.

The memories come back in a slow, warm slide down his spine, has his cock twitching when he squeezes his ass and feels that sweet soreness along his muscles, the dried come and lube along the inside of his thighs. Less than twenty four hours into his marriage and Zitao could at least say he was pleased with his husband’s performance in bed.

Everything else - well, he’d deal with that later. For now, Zitao shifts forward, letting his eyes adjust to the light to see a flash of colour on Jongdae’s skin. It takes him a moment to realize the colour is in fact the beginning of a tattoo over his shoulder, curving up onto his back where it spreads out and disappears under the blanket. Curious now, Zitao pushes the blanket away and ends up tossing it aside entirely, leaving Jongdae naked and whining, but the tattoo in clear view now.

‘What,’ he says, voice still thick with sleep, but Zitao ignores him. Straddling the back of Jongdae’s thighs, Zitao peers down at the tattoo in all its glory along Jongdae’s back. ‘What are you _doing_?’

‘Looking,’ replies Zitao. ‘Stay still.’ Jongdae huffs but doesn’t move, buries his face deeper into his pillow instead. The tattoo is gorgeous. ‘Zhu Que,’ he murmurs under his breath - the vermillion bird of the south. The colours blend smoothly into each other - all the golds, reds, orange and pinks - with the bird’s body outlined in brush strokes of black. The bird’s head is arched along the curve of Jongdae’s shoulder, its body with its wings half-spread open taking up all the space of his back, its long, detailed tail feathers stretching out to curve around the top of his thigh.

Zitao can’t help but follow the black lines along its wingspan with his fingers, mesmerized by the colours, how the warm shades suited the tone of Jongdae’s skin. Underneath him, Jongdae shivers, makes a low sound in the back of his throat. ‘She’s called Jujak here.’

‘She?’ He thinks of teasing but the tattoo is distracting, has Zitao’s hands spread over the skin of Jongdae’s back, amazed at how _pretty_ the bird looks. He leans his weight forward a little, feeling the shape of Jongdae’s muscles, how they shift and slide under Zitao’s touch when Jongdae props himself up on his elbows, looking back over his shoulder at Zitao.

‘Like what you see?’ Jongdae’s voice is still rough from sleep, makes the tease less laughable when Zitao can feel the words in his gut.

‘I’m sore,’ says Zitao, swallowing, trying to read Jongdae’s expression, make something out of the sheer intensity of his gaze.

Jongdae drags his eyes slow and intent over Zitao’s body - naked, cloaked in nothing but sunshine making his skin glow gold. ‘I see.’ Suddenly he’s turning onto his side, tipping Zitao off him entirely. Zitao lands on the bed with a bounce, offended expression on his face, but Jongdae ignores him as he gets up, walks into the bathroom, calling out, ‘are you going to join me or not?’

-

In the shower, the tattoo seems even more eye-catching with water sluicing over the bird, the colours seemingly brighter when Zitao wipes the soap off Jongdae’s back. He can’t stop touching it when he looks, has Jongdae rolling his eyes when he has to nudge Zitao under the shower spray for his turn.

He rinses his hair, eyes closed to enjoy the hot water washing over him, when Jongdae’s hands settle over his hips. Then Jongdae is kissing the space between Zitao’s shoulder blades, one hand slipping between Zitao’s ass, gently running the pads of his fingers over Zitao’s hole.

His mouth is dry. ‘Going to fuck me right here?’

‘If you keep touching me, maybe,’ says Jongdae, mouth moving against the skin of Zitao’s back. His fingers circle Zitao’s asshole, a teasing pressure more than anything else, making Zitao’s cock twitch at the idea of Jongdae pushing into him again, stretching him open again. ‘But,’ and Jongdae’s fingers drop away suddenly, ‘didn’t you say you were sore?’

‘What,’ gapes Zitao turning around in disbelief to the sight of Jongdae stepping out of the shower and towelling off, as if Zitao couldn’t spot his half-hard dick clearly in front of him.

-

He joins Jongdae in the kitchen a bit later, dressed in a tank and shorts. He had found his suitcases already unpacked and his clothes hung up in the closet of the master bedroom, and it was too late now to complain about the invasion privacy, figured Jongdae wasn’t the one who did it anyway.

Jongdae’s back is turned towards Zitao as he works the coffee maker, wearing sweats but no shirt - and Zitao feels like he realizes something just then.

‘You’re a fucking tease.’

He doesn’t wait for Jongdae to answer before striding over, fingers curled into claws as he drags his nails down Jongdae’s back, feeling Jongdae hiss and arch, the red lines on his skin imperceptible amongst the colours of the tattoo.

Zitao doesn’t know what to expect - his stomach tight with anticipation - but Jongdae does not disappoint.

Jongdae veers on him in an instant, eyes flashing, and Zitao finds himself hustled up against the kitchen counter, hands gripping the edge. ‘You’re just _that_ desperate, aren’t you?’ He sneers, and Zitao can’t help but stare down at Jongdae, the curve of his mouth and the dangerous cut of his jaw, how his cheekbones make his gaze that much more intense.

‘Like you don’t want to fuck me,’ Zitao replies, voice breathy and low already. ‘Or is one round all you can do?’

For a second, Jongdae stills, expressionless and that much more dangerous-looking, and Zitao’s lust twists into panic, which just makes his cock get harder. Then Jongdae’s mouth is curving, teasing, playful, as he leans forward, slides his hand under Zitao’s tank to thumb at his nipple. ‘I should punish you for that,’ he says, and pinches, making Zitao jerk, ‘but maybe I’ll just bend you over the table and show you what I can do.’ He’s soothing the skin now with gentle rubs of his thumb. ‘Do you want that?’

His brain is hazy with want but he recognizes the question for what it is: permission. Permission to let Jongdae take him to the edge and bring him back. But Zitao was impatient now, they could sort out the details later, and he’s sure Jongdae feels that way too when Zitao can see how his sweats tent out with his hard cock. ‘Yes.’

That’s how Zitao finds himself face down against a table, one hand clutching at the far edge of it, while Jongdae fucks his ass hard and mean, making his dick rub up against the surface. The friction is dry, painful - but Zitao can’t care, not when he’s mewling for Jongdae - ‘don’t stop, fuck, fuck, Chen - _Chen_ \- ’ as he feels his hole opened up again over that perfectly thick cock.

‘You’re so fucking easy,’ says Jongdae, holding Zitao’s ass open, and Zitao moans when the thrusts slow down. ‘Take my cock so fucking well.’

‘Please,’ and Jongdae replies with a hard slam into him, ‘fuck! _Please_ \- !’

‘I want to feel you come on my cock.’

Zitao groans, panting against the table. ‘Yes, yes.’

With that, Jongdae picks up the pace again, has his thighs and balls slapping against Zitao’s ass with each fuck. Every thrust has Zitao’s cock ride against the table, the slide becoming easier with his precome and sweat, and he can feel the pleasure building up in his gut.

He thinks he could get addicted to this - the way his ass feels when Jongdae’s thick cock opens him up, stretches him to his limit so his nerves are already oversensitive. Jongdae’s voice too - how low it is, the way he’s just as loud as Zitao when he moans and talks, tells him, ‘your ass is so tight - _fuck_ \- even after I fucked you open last night,’ and Zitao feels so slutty and desperate but also so _good_.

‘More, more - gonna come,’ sobs Zitao, fingers curled tight around the table edge, his hips taking each of Jongdae’s ruthless thrusts, feeling how his cock grinds against the table so hard, almost painful, but it doesn’t matter, not when Jongdae’s cock was filling him up so that each fuck punched into Zitao’s prostate. ‘Don’t stop - I’m gonna come - ’

‘Let me feel it,’ says Jongdae and hitches one of Zitao’s legs on top of the table too, changing the angle of his thrusts so that Zitao is wailing as he feels the delicious drag of Jongdae’s thick dick along his rim before he’s fucking back inside, running up along that delicious sweet spot. ‘Come on my dick, do it.’

‘Chen, hah,’ he gasps and loses it, feels his cock empty out over his stomach and the table, dripping long strings of come that pulse out of him with each of Jongdae’s thrusts inside of him. He can feel himself milk Jongdae’s cock inside of his ass - the thickness too much to ignore when his hole tightens up, makes Jongdae groan when he tries to pull out and it feels that much tighter, that much more hot.

‘Shit, gonna come inside you,’ he warns, but Zitao doesn’t care, only mewls back an agreement. With Zitao’s ass working Jongdae’s cock over, it doesn’t take long. A dozen thrusts later - deep and hard so that Zitao’s making desperate little noises at the oversensitivity of his cock, his asshole - and Jongdae blows his load with that same low, loud noise that makes Zitao’s stomach tighten in want.

Jongdae rocks into him for a minute or two, hips flexing with each pulse of his come, and Zitao can feel the warmth inside of him, filling him up. He feels spent, used, his entire body sore at being bent over a table for so long. Eventually, Jongdae pulls his softening cock out, and Zitao moans, tightening up his ass to keep that come inside for just a little while longer.

He doesn’t expect to feel Jongdae’s fingers run up along his asshole, gentle but still too much when he’s just been fucked. ‘Chen…’

‘Do you want me to get the plug?’

Zitao blinks at the question, realizes that Jongdae must’ve noticed his ass clench up. ‘No, it’s - ’ He cuts off, embarrassed.

Jongdae lets out a small laugh. ‘Too small for you now?’

He flushes, embarrassed, then jerks when one of Jongdae’s fingers slides inside of him, ‘ah - fuck.’

‘S’alright,’ murmurs Jongdae, ‘I want to see your ass all stretched out for my cock too.’ His finger pumps in, ‘and when I take out that plug of yours,’ and slides back out, trailing wetly across the back of Zitao’s balls, ‘I want to see you leaking all of my come, so I can fuck it back into you.’

‘Stop - !’

Jongdae pulls away instantly, goes to Zitao’s side, but Zitao can’t look at him, burying his flushed face against his arms. When it becomes obvious he’s not going to say anything, Jongdae speaks, his voice soft, ‘I’m going to dress you back up now, is that okay?’

Zitao nods, listens to Jongdae move away to fetch his shorts that they lost somewhere between the kitchen and the table. Soon, there are hands at his legs, calves, lifting his feet up and sliding the shorts back on. He doesn’t realize just how _strong_ Jongdae is until he feels Jongdae grip his sides and lift him up from the table without even a noise of protest.

Standing up now, Zitao hides his face behind his hands, still feeling too embarrassed, too exposed, but Jongdae is thankfully silent and guides him back to the bedroom. He’s gentle when he urges Zitao to sit, to lie down. ‘Do you want water?’

‘I - no, I’m just - ’ He chokes on his words, feels another wave of humiliation overtake him.

Jongdae hums, sits down on the bed at Zitao’s hip but doesn’t touch. ‘We can start with a safeword.’

Zitao is silent, waiting.

‘After that, it’s up to you. Whatever you want.’

There’s nothing to contradict him. Even though they’ve only fucked twice, Zitao feels like he knows the way Jongdae waits, watches, teases. He doesn’t take unless offered, but Zitao feels like he’s offered too much - shown himself as easy and desperate and a slut, even if it was everything he wanted. ‘I’m not - all of that, I…’

‘I know,’ replies Jongdae.

Zitao pulls his hands away from his face, scowling. ‘How do you _know_?’

He really should have expected Jongdae to move, his hands grabbing onto Zitao’s wrists, pinning them against the headboard, while he kneels on either side of Zitao’s waist, peering down at him, mouth pulled flat in seriousness. ‘I know you like it - the way I fuck you, make you beg and take it until you come.’

He’s flushing again, feels his face heat up against his will, but he doesn’t reply.

‘I want it,’ says Jongdae, leaning down, close enough that Zitao can see the delicate curve of his lashes. ‘I want to see you desperate for me, I want to see you beg. I don’t care if that means using toys or cuffs or fucking you against the window for someone to see.’

Zitao stares up at him. ‘I,’ he stops, tries again. ‘What if I was into daddy kink?’

Jongdae doesn’t even try to mask his distaste, brows pulling upwards as he frowns.

It’s enough to have Zitao start giggling, the embarrassment melting out of him as he watches Jongdae try to come up with an answer. Jongdae only realizes the tease a second later, scowling down at Zitao, but Zitao only laughs aloud, feeling relieved.

‘Brat,’ snaps Jongdae, rolling off Zitao, but Zitao follows him, sitting up on the bed and grabbing his arm, pulling him back.

‘My safeword will be seashell,’ he starts. ‘We should have food, and then afterwards...’

The scowl slips away, replaced with that familiar smug expression over Jongdae’s face as he watches Zitao. ‘Anything for my pretty new wife.’

‘I’m not your wife - !’ But it’s too late, Jongdae’s laughing as he leaves the room and Zitao follows with a huff.

-

While Jongdae makes breakfast, Zitao is relegated to cleaning the table of his own spunk, nevermind the fact that he can feel Jongdae’s come leaking out of him, dirtying his shorts. There’s a brief moment where he considers changing his clothes but if Jongdae was serious, then he’d like Zitao this way - still messy and wanting more. He’d at least have to try it out - if only to see how Jongdae would react.

Jongdae sets the table soon after, sits across from Zitao as they eat, chatting idly. ‘We have a flight to catch tomorrow to Jeju, I have the details on my phone.’

‘How long?’

‘Just a week, then we’ll be back here.’ Jongdae kicks his feet from under his seat, swinging his legs; Zitao thinks of small kids on chairs, their legs too short to reach the ground. ‘Hope you don’t mind packing again. I think your suitcases are somewhere around here.’

‘They’re in the closet,’ replies Zitao, looking around the kitchen, the living room right next to it. ‘So we’re going to live here?’

‘For now, yeah.’

It’s a strange feeling - being in a new place and expecting it to become home at some point. As far as husbands go, Zitao could do much worse, and if they never got past acquaintanceship into some kind of romance, well - at least Zitao would always be sexually satisfied. He doesn’t regret it of course - the marriage was part of the business deal. The Kim clan can have their bank, but the Huang family will keep their ties to it, and Zitao would inherit as he always knew he would while growing up. Having an attractive, sharp-tongued husband with a thick cock was not the worst price to pay for what Zitao deserved.

After the meal, Jongdae washes the dishes and lets them dry in the rack, while Zitao wanders around the apartment again, this time exploring its rooms. There was a master bedroom as well as a guest bedroom, a bathroom in the hall as well as a second private bathroom for their own room. The living room opened up to a balcony and there was already two chairs and a small table set out under the sunshine. The entire place was clean and carefully furnished with expensive but lowkey decor, except for some pieces of atrocious art hanging on the walls, but Zitao would deal with that later.

It’s quiet as he packs a suitcase for tomorrow. For a long while, there’s no sound or sign of Jongdae, and Zitao can’t help his curiousity, zips up his suitcase and pads out of the main bedroom to look for him.

He finds Jongdae asleep on the couch.

Zitao briefly considers dropping onto him in surprise but he’d probably get an elbow to the face, wushu reflexes or not. Instead, he finds himself looking at Jongdae again - taking in the angles of his face, the solidity of his neck, shoulders, how his shirtlessness revealed that he didn’t lack for bulk. No wonder he could manhandle Zitao, who was a head taller than him.

‘Jongdae,’ he tries, but the name tastes wrong in his mouth. ‘Chen.’

Jongdae doesn’t wake, but his brows furrow for a moment. Sleep softens his face, makes him look years younger, almost childlike. Zitao crawls onto the couch to hover over Jongdae and that’s enough to jostle him awake, blinking slowly at the sight of Zitao overtop him. ‘Tao.’

His voice is so low, it just makes Zitao _want_. ‘Napping?’

‘Mm,’ he nods, a hand reaching up to slide through Zitao’s hair, as if to brush it out of his eyes. It’s surprisingly gentle. ‘What is it?’

‘Nothing.’ He leans a little into the touch, eyes still on Jongdae, taking him in while he was still sleep-soft, his gaze less intense when he watched Zitao. ‘Did washing the dishes exhaust you?’

Jongdae drops his hand, letting it land against the back of the couch. ‘Are you not _tired_?’

‘From what?’ With the way Jongdae raises his brows expectantly, Zitao cracks a grin. ‘From morning sex?’

‘Maybe you’re not tired because all you did was lie there and take it,’ says Jongdae, mouth pressed together and brows furrowing as he looks away, seemingly annoyed. It takes a moment for Zitao to realize that _oh_ , his husband was _embarrassed_.

‘Do you need a break?’ He croons, unable to stop his grin. ‘Shall I bring you some crackers and juice?’

Jongdae scowls at him, tries to push him away, but he’s not trying very hard and Zitao is not above using his height to keep Jongdae underneath him. ‘Shut up,’ says Jongdae eventually, glaring up at him. ‘Get off me, you brat.’

‘Make me.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘You said I could do whatever I want.’

He stares at Zitao then sighs, resigned. ‘What is it then?’ Suddenly, Jongdae’s eyes seem that much darker, heavier, as his hand curls into Zitao’s tank and pulls hard, forces Zitao to lean in that much closer. ‘Tell me what you want.’

‘Your cock,’ says Zitao, shameless, wanting. ‘Fucking me open.’

‘Yeah?’ Jongdae is still watching him, unblinking and intense. ‘Hadn’t had enough yet? How many times will I have to fuck you until you’re satisfied?’

‘I don’t know,’ he replies, honest. ‘It just feels so good.’

‘If you want it so bad, I want to see it.’ Jongdae lets go of Zitao’s tank and moves backwards to sit up and settle against the arm of the couch, leaving Zitao kneeling across from him. ‘Open yourself up for me, fuck yourself on my dick.’

Zitao moans, nods, and gets to work.

When he finally sinks down on Jongdae’s thick cock, Jongdae is sitting up on the couch and Zitao kneeling on either side of his hips. His hands grip the back of the couch above Jongdae’s shoulders, feeling how Jongdae’s fingers curl over his hips, ease Zitao until Zitao’s ass settles over his thighs, hissing. ‘Still so tight.’

‘Like it?’ Zitao teases, breathless, as he clenches around the cock filling him up. ‘Want - want - ’

Jongdae’s hands go from hips to Zitao’s ass, the pads of his fingers tracing the stretched out rim of his hole, making Zitao shiver from oversensitivity. It should be too much - getting fucked for the third time in so many hours, but Zitao can’t help it, is far too hedonistic to not want to feel blissed out and unthinking, listen to how Jongdae tells him, ‘you’re such a fucking slut for it, aren’t you?’ between his groans when Zitao clenches his hole tight.

‘No - _fuck_ \- yes,’ mewls Zitao, hips lifting and riding back down, his ass meeting Jongdae’s thighs. ‘Just want your cock, please.’

‘Mm, is that all you want?’ And Jongdae is tilting his head back, looking up at Zitao, expression no longer smug or teasing - just watchful and intense. ‘Just my cock?’ His hips jerk, slam hard into Zitao to have him moaning loudly. ‘I can leave you here with a cock that vibrates, watch you fuck yourself with it.’

Even with his thoughts drowned out in lust, Zitao knows it wouldn’t be enough. He rides Jongdae’s thick dick that much faster, helpless to how it feels filling him up, but wants Jongdae’s voice too, telling him how filthy and gorgeous he looks, wants Jongdae’s mouth and his hands over Zitao’s skin, sharp and soft in turns. In less than a day, Jongdae already knows how to make Zitao feel stretched out and _strung out_ \- so fucking _easily_ in a way that Zitao has  never experienced with anyone else.

‘All of it, want it all - _please_ , Chen, want you fucking me,’ he moans, desperate to make him understand, even when his voice breaks every time Jongdae nails into him. Jongdae growls low in his throat, rewards Zitao by meeting all of Zitao’s frantic movements to ride down over Jongdae’s dick. They meet halfway and Zitao chokes, feeling how Jongdae drives his thick hot cock harder and deeper into his ass. ‘ _Chen_ \- oh god - Chen, Chen, Chen - ’

‘So, so pretty,’ says Jongdae, suddenly rolling them over so that Zitao is on his back against the couch cushions, ‘and all for me.’

Zitao wails as Jongdae fucks him - scratching his nails over Jongdae’s shoulders as he hangs on while Jongdae’s cock stretches his ass open, runs over his prostate again and again so that his own cock bounces on his stomach while spitting precome. He can tell he’s being too loud, too caught up, too _much_ , but Jongdae doesn’t stop to shut him up, only seems to fuck him even more for it - ‘is this how you want me to fuck you?’

He can’t even _reply_ , babbles something like, ‘yesyes _yes_ ’ even as he’s sobbing and clutching onto Jongdae’s shoulders. It’s fast and intense and Zitao is already too sensitive, too far gone in the feeling, can’t figure out what’s happening when the pleasure builds up in his belly, tightens his balls. Jongdae pounds into him, doesn’t give him a break, his thick hair sticking to his temple with sweat and his eyes intense as he watches how Zitao arches and moans and welcomes each hard fuck of Jongdae’s cock.

‘ChenChenChenChen,’ is the last thing Zitao manages to voice out before he’s suddenly coming, untouched and hard, leaving ropes of come over his stomach and chest. He can feel Jongdae’s pace slow down, drag his cock in and out of Zitao’s ass in deep, long strokes so that Zitao will milk him for all its worth. ‘Shit - oh, f-fuck,’ he stutters in disbelief, still clutching Jongdae’s shoulders when he realizes what just happened.

‘Stay still,’ orders Jongdae, voice low and brows furrowed, as he keeps grinding into Zitao’s ass, and Zitao only tightens up around his cock, feeling it drag against the rim of his asshole so hot that his body can’t tell if it feels good or painful. ‘Yeah, fuck, like that.’ With that, Jongdae comes too, pumps Zitao full of his load. Zitao whimpers - Jongdae’s come is so warm and his cock is so hard and Zitao’s ass is so sore and it’s just so fucking much - and Jongdae pulls out a moment later.

‘I-I need a nap now,’ mumbles Zitao, overwhelmed, but Jongdae doesn’t laugh. He folds into Zitao instead, hands stroking over Zitao’s sides until Zitao’s breathing starts evening out. ‘F-Fuck…’

‘Water?’ He murmurs, head pillowed on Zitao’s shoulder as he keeps petting at Zitao’s skin, a soothing rhythm. ‘Tao?’

‘Never,’ starts Zitao, trying to wet his suddenly dry mouth. ‘I’ve never done that.’

‘Hm?’

‘Come like that,’ he says, feeling how his entire body is still tingling in hypersensitivity. ‘Without - without any help.’

Jongdae is quiet for a moment. Zitao can feel the flutter of Jongdae’s lashes against his throat when he blinks; it’s ticklish. ‘I can… be less. For next time.’

‘No,’ says Zitao without thinking, surprising himself. He feels the warmth of Jongdae’s back under his hands, fingers softly tracing over the welts his nails have left behind. ‘I want it like that. Like how you want to be.’ He pauses, considers. ‘If you can handle me like… like that.’

‘Crying from how good my dick feels?’ He doesn’t need to look at Jongdae’s face to know that smug grin is back on his face.

‘I’ll draw blood next time,’ warns Zitao, digging a nail into Jongdae’s back, feels Jongdae arch and laugh, his chest vibrating with the sound.

‘Try it, Tao. See what happens.’

The promise of punishment is more heady than it should be, has Zitao whining. ‘Stop, I’m _tired_.’

‘ _Finally_.’

‘We’ll work on your stamina later.’

‘Shut up, you brat,’ he snaps, pinching Zitao’s side, making him squeak and press himself into Jongdae who is still sprawled over him, warm and heavy.

‘We can’t sleep here,’ says Zitao, his breath ruffling Jongdae’s thick hair, unable to stop himself from feeling drowsy and comfortable. ‘Chen.’

Jongdae whines, petulant. ‘ _Fine_.’ He eventually pushes himself off Zitao and stands up, stretching out a hand. ‘C’mon.’

Zitao blinks, finds himself taking Jongdae’s hand and pulled off the couch. He thinks it’s a bit childlike - how Jongdae walks in front of him, guiding him back to the bedroom as if Zitao doesn’t know where it is.

Midway, Jongdae adjusts the handhold to intertwine their fingers together and Zitao decides he doesn’t mind being led.

-

‘Are you… _limping_?’ Sehun asks, raising his eyebrows from behind his sunglasses. He stands next to the car in the building’s underground parking, watching Zitao walk out from the elevator and approach him. The luggage is already stowed in the trunk - Sehun had taken it while Zitao was still getting dressed. Jongdae had left hours earlier, promising to meet Zitao at the airport.

‘I am _not_ ,’ says Zitao, feeling a telltale flush creep up his cheeks.

‘Wow,’ says Sehun, a little in awe. He shoves a hand in his jacket pocket and pulls out a phone, handing it over to Zitao. ‘Anyway, this phone has a Korean SIM card to replace your Chinese one. I already saved a couple numbers in your contact list.’

Zitao opens the list, finds Yixing. ‘You gave a phone to Xing-ge too?’

‘Yeah. Most of your family flew back yesterday, but your parents and Yixing are sticking around the hotel still. Touristing or something. Anyway, Junmyeon-hyung thought the phones would be a good wedding gift.’

Zitao frowns in thought. ‘I should get Yixing his own place.’

Sehun seems surprised. ‘What - to live here?’

‘You think you’re my first escort?’ Zitao snorts, then nods. ‘Should I ask Chen for that?’

‘Chen…’ The bewilderment on Sehun’s face is almost laughable. ‘Right - hyung. He might not do it personally, but ask Junmyeon-hyung.’

Nodding to himself, Zitao opens the door to the passenger side and slips in, waiting for Sehun to sit in the driver’s seat and start the car.

‘Usually, the guest sits in the back when there’s a driver,’ says Sehun, voice dry, as they pull out of the parking.

Zitao can’t help it - knocks his hand against Sehun’s shoulder, grinning. ‘But we’re _family_ now, Sehunnie,’ if only to see Sehun cringe, no way to hide his face when Zitao was right next to him. It has him laughing, feeling warm and comfortable despite all the newness.

-

Jeju blooms under the summer - the waters shimmering a vivid blue and hotels dotting the coastline. The docks are crowded with personal boats to rent out for a day’s sail, and in the distance are silhouettes of mountains and the green of the forest, promising trails to hike or wild horses to see.

Zitao takes pictures with his new phone, happily sends them to Yixing as he’s escorted from the airport to the hotel. It’s just him and Jongdae, though Jongdae mentioned that there would be a business meeting near the end of the week.

‘It’s at an exclusive art showcase,’ he says as they enter their suite, luggage already delivered by staff. ‘So not really a business meeting as much as me just checking in with an associate. Would you come with me?’

Tearing his gaze from the floor-to-ceiling window of the suite, Zitao looks back at Jongdae and nods. ‘Of course. I know how to do business too.’

He doesn’t expect Jongdae to laugh. ‘Right.’

Zitao furrows his brow, annoyed. ‘I was raised to inherit my family’s company. Don’t treat me like your trophy wife.’

He sobers up soon enough even if his mouth is still curved into a smirk. ‘Finally accepting that you’re my wife?’

‘Call me that again and I’ll lock you out of the bedroom,’ warns Zitao, more irritated at the condescension rather than the title. ‘You can sleep on the couch like a _real_ husband.’

Jongdae throws his hands up in surrender. ‘Sorry, sorry. How can I make it up to my dear husband?’

‘Take me to the beach,’ he declares imperiously and finds himself unfairly endeared when Jongdae does just that.

-

To say that Jongdae behaves as the perfect spouse seems almost like a understatement.

Zitao reports to Yixing in long texts throughout the days, wondering if anyone was supposed to have it this good in an arranged marriage. While Jongdae might tease at Zitao’s whims, he delivers almost magically - takes Zitao to the shopping district, treats him to expensive meals, accompanies him out to see the wild horses and the hiking trails, lounges with Zitao even after the sun sets and the beach is empty and cool, Zitao tucking his feet into the sand and listening to the waves that remind him of home while Jongdae seemingly naps beside him.

He knows he’s being spoiled, even if Jongdae makes no mention of it. Like it doesn’t even occur to him that he can let Zitao indulge himself alone. Instead, Jongdae is quick, both with plans and his wallet, and has no care about the way Zitao splurges his spouse’s money on pretty accessories and carefully chosen clothes and whatever else catches his eye.

By the third night, Zitao has to ask. ‘Why are you doing all this?’

Jongdae is in the middle of opening two bottles of beer in the suite’s kitchenette, and Zitao tries not to notice the sharp flex of Jongdae’s forearm as he pops the cap off.

‘Doing all of what?’ Jongdae asks, easy-going as usual. He hands a bottle off to Zitao, watching him with an amused grin.

‘This entire trip,’ says Zitao. ‘You’ve been - too nice.’

Jongdae outright laughs, walking past him to the balcony overlooking the sea. ‘And what is _too_ nice, Tao?’

Huffing, Zitao joins him, leaning his forearms against the railing to catch the sea breeze along his cheeks. ‘You don’t have to pay for everything, and you definitely don’t have to agree to everything either. So?’

‘So,’ echoes Jongdae, going quiet.

‘You don’t have to… impress me or whatever,’ he says, feeling a bolt of embarrassment over the thought that Jongdae is trying to win him over and here was Zitao accusing him of manipulation. ‘Actually, forget it, nevermind.’

He takes a long swallow of his beer and thanks the shadows of the night to hide the flush on his cheeks. Beside him, Jongdae takes a sip as well and watches the glass bottle catch the light from inside the suite.

‘Don’t you like it?’

Zitao glances over, surprised. ‘What?’

‘When you’re being treated,’ Jongdae pauses, ‘ _spoiled_.’ He turns around to lean his back against the railing, looking over at Zitao, his eyes glittering even through the dark. ‘You go quiet every time I take the check and you haven’t stopped me once. It’s because you like it, don’t you?’

‘Who doesn’t?’ Zitao snaps, trying to sense the condescension in Jongdae’s tone.

There isn’t any. Jongdae shrugs and takes another drink of his beer. ‘You like being treated, I like treating people - it’s a perfect arrangement.’

Spending hours a day next to each other for three days straight means that they have inevitably started talking about their families, their backgrounds. Memories and jokes. A mapping of the family tree through a series of anecdotes, tracing years through mentions of uncles and grandmothers and great-aunts and the ever-complex tangling threads of cousins.

Zitao tells him of Qingdao - growing up next to the seaside, floating away too far from the shore, going out on the family boat past the crowded beaches, tasting too much salt but missing it far too soon when he was back inland. There’s a difference between Jeju sand and back home, or maybe it’s because Zitao is different now - finds himself still trying to figure out how he fits _here_. Either way, he tells Jongdae all of this, figures that the slice of vulnerability is enough for Jongdae to reciprocate.

He does - in his own way. Over the days, Zitao learns Minseok has a sweet tooth, that Jongin has managed to adopt a new dog for every year at university - now at three and heading to four - and that Junmyeon has a habit of buying houseplants only to manage to kill them two weeks later without fail.

Yet, Jongdae seemingly to elude him completely. Talks a lot but says nothing particular about himself. Drapes the stories of anyone else in front of his own life, does it so well that it can’t be anything other than practice. The avoidance has something in Zitao’s gut twist, can’t help but make him wonder if there’s something beyond a lack of trust that has Jongdae holding back.

‘Anything else I should know about you?’ Zitao tries, tone purposefully casual.

‘Yeah,’ he starts, looking at the label on the bottle. ‘I think this stuff is pretty good. What about you?’

‘I like sweeter drinks,’ confesses Zitao, wonders if he should laugh over how smoothly Jongdae sidesteps even the most general question.

Jongdae nods. ‘Beers or cocktails?’

‘Cocktails.’

He laughs. ‘And you still let me give you this?’

Zitao shrugs. ‘Maybe I just wanted to drink slow and see you get drunk.’

‘Are you saying I’m a lightweight?’

‘You _are_ short,’ he shoots off, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

At least the jab has Jongdae whining, making Zitao laugh at him. Even if Jongdae doesn’t say anything, his personality seems to give himself away, and Zitao can take comfort that Jongdae doesn’t hide how he’s just as bratty and childlike as he is observant and sharp.

‘I’m not short,’ Jongdae’s voice cuts in loudly. ‘I’m taller than both Minseok and Junmyeon-hyung.’

Laughing, Zitao coos. ‘Maybe you still have some growing up to do then.’

‘I’m your _hyung_ , you little brat,’ he snaps, turning on Zitao to shove him, but there’s no force behind it, and Zitao is too busy giggling to feel it. He listens to Jongdae huff and stomp back into the hotel suite, decides to follow him while trying to bite back more laughter at Jongdae’s expense.

He finds Jongdae on the couch in the main room, bare feet propped up on the coffee table next to his beer as he types on his phone. Zitao puts down his own bottle as well before collapsing onto the couch with a loud noise, makes sure to land too close to Jongdae so Jongdae yelps as he almost drops his phone.

‘Stop harassing me,’ he scowls, but doesn’t move away when Zitao takes a peek at his phone screen, finding a page of search results regarding Jeju’s signature drinks. He laughs again, incredulous.

‘I don’t need a cocktail _now_ ,’ he says, propping his chin on Jongdae’s shoulder to watch him scroll and click on some link or another. ‘Your whole spoiling people thing is going too far.’

Jongdae’s fingers pause. ‘Is it?’

‘Hm?’

This time, his voice is low, careful, like during those moments back at the apartment when he had asked and eased Zitao. ‘Is it too much?’

‘No,’ he replies, tipping up so his mouth skates over Jongdae’s cheek. A moment later and Jongdae kisses him back, turning towards Zitao. Zitao takes the invitation and straddles his lap, moans when Jongdae slips his hands under Zitao’s shirt, his touch cool against Zitao’s skin.

‘Eager, eager,’ murmurs Jongdae when Zitao pulls away.

‘Haven’t fucked me in three days,’ he accuses, but his voice is already rough with want as he feels Jongdae’s hands drag along his skin.

‘You said you wanted to sleep.’

‘Hiking and horseback riding are _tiring_.’

‘But the beach and shopping…?’

‘I will leave you on this couch,’ warns Zitao, pouting at the teasing, even as one of Jongdae’s hands slip past the waistband of his shorts, cups his ass so that Zitao arches to push into the touch.

‘No you won’t,’ says Jongdae with a grin, slipping a finger that much closer to Zitao’s hole so that Zitao whines under his breath. ‘You want it too much.’

Zitao scoffs, rides down on Jongdae’s lap to where his half-hard cock arches up. ‘As if you don’t want me.’

‘You’re just so pretty.’

‘I know,’ he says, eyes still on Jongdae even as he feels the pads of Jongdae’s fingers run over his hole just gently enough to have Zitao shiver. ‘Even if I don’t know anything about you,’ he rolls his hips, feels the friction spark over his skin, ‘I _do_ know you like _this_.’

Jongdae pauses, his eyes dark and suddenly that much heavier as he watches Zitao. ‘Really?’

‘If I can’t make you talk about your life, I’ll at least get you to fuck me.’ Zitao matches his stare, doesn’t back down. ‘Your dick is always honest.’

Jongdae’s grin changes, shifts, turns sharp at the corners where Zitao can see a flash of his white teeth. ‘And here I was exposing family secrets.’

The banter has gone too long; Zitao shifts impatiently in Jongdae’s lap. ‘I married _you_ not your cousins. Now will you fuck me or not?’

‘So you’re _not_ just a pretty face,’ he remarks, and before Zitao can even get in a word, Jongdae is rolling them to the side. He pins Zitao against the couch cushions underneath him with his weight, and Zitao doesn’t think - just goes under without a moment’s hesitation.

-

The art is atrocious. Zitao doesn’t know what else to think once they enter the gallery, joining the other guests at the exclusive viewing. He takes another look, in hopes that maybe the art had somehow changed between blinks, but no - it’s still ugly.

At least this time Zitao spots Junmyeon amongst the many people milling around, his smile wide as he talks to a couple. He gestures for Jongdae, who is standing beside him, dressed up in a plain suit with a ribbon tie that made him look embarrassingly young. The car had arrived before Zitao could talk Jongdae out of the outfit and Zitao can feel his second-hand embarrassment slipping away under resignation. If Jongdae wanted to humiliate himself in front of his own client, let him; Zitao would just enjoy the event himself.

Once Jongdae catches sight of Junmyeon as well, he nods. ‘You can join him. I need to talk to a few people here for business.’ He take another look around. ‘I don’t know how long it’ll take, so feel free to go back to the hotel whenever.’

Zitao knows he’s being brushed off, can’t help but want to push against it. ‘You mean go back with someone else to the hotel, right?’

Jongdae is looking away but Zitao still sees his jaw clench for a moment. ‘Do what you want.’

He walks off before Zitao can reply - a cheap move - but Zitao files it away for later. As of right now, he had awful art to look at and guests to charm for himself.

-

‘Is he treating you well?’ asks Junmyeon, holding two flutes of champagne in his hands. Zitao excuses himself from the woman he had been talking with and turns towards Junmyeon, taking the proffered drink with a smile.

‘Jongdae?’ The name still tastes strange, but they were in public. ‘He’s very kind.’

Junmyeon laughs, his handsome features crumpling up. ‘Is he kind to _you_?’

Zitao takes a sip for a pause. ‘In his own way.’

‘He takes getting used to, doesn’t he?’ Junmyeon nods to himself. ‘You just tell me if he does something you don’t like.’

‘I don’t want him to get in trouble with his gege.’

‘ _Hyung_ ,’ he corrects, but it’s soft, and Zitao doesn’t mind it when Junmyeon seems utterly sincere. ‘I’m just here for the little things. You should report to Minseok when Jongdae is especially bad.’

Zitao raises his brows. ‘The little things?’

‘If he forgets your favourite colour, or your favourite food, or your birthday, anniversary -’ Junmyeon lists them off on his fingers. ‘ - his _own_ birthday, or that thing you told him to buy you last week - ’

He’s cut off by Zitao laughing. ‘Then what should I tell Minseok-hyung?’

‘That’s for whenever you need to make him come home crying,’ says Junmyeon cheerily.

He snorts into his champagne at the visual. ‘I’ll try not to call you often.’

‘Feel free to change your mind.’ After taking a drink, Junmyeon’s expression sobers up and he glances around the gallery. ‘Really, I just wanted to warn you about Jongdae’s work. That’s what he said when you both came, isn’t it?’

‘Business meeting.’

Junmyeon nods. ‘I don’t know if he told you but Jongdae handles a lot of client relations for the bank. Oftentimes, he has to visit them instead of them coming to the bank, which means his office hours are…’

‘Anytime, anywhere?’ Zitao knew all about charming clients with fancy dinners and loyalty gifts.

‘Exactly. And with a merger like this - we’re going international, and that means our client list has just gotten bigger.’

‘Warning me that my husband is going to be in and out of the house more often than not?’

Junmyeon sighs, seemingly defeated. ‘Yes… I wish it wasn’t like that. You know, it was going to be either me or him when it came to the entire arranged marriage.’ He looks at his half-empty champagne flute for a moment too long. ‘He volunteered, saying I had no time to be a good spouse, but…’

‘He was probably right,’ says Zitao gently. ‘Anyway, he likes being right.’

Snorting, Junmyeon looks at him with a small smile. ‘Figuring him out already.’

Pleased, he nods. ‘Of course. I worked with clients too.’

‘He’ll have to be on his toes with you,’ Junmyeon says, a little in awe.

-

They fly home a day later. Zitao sleeps on the plane, leaning his shoulder against Jongdae. Jongdae doesn’t wake him until they land.

-

‘It feels too good to be true,’ he confesses to Yixing, visiting him in the hotel room that the Kim clan had booked for him. Zitao still hasn’t figured out if he wants Yixing to stay or not, knows that Yixing will accept any decision Zitao makes because Zitao is his priority - over the bank, the accounting, the clients, everything.

Yixing  has ordered room service - tea and snacks. He nudges for Zitao to drink in between his talking and eating. Finally, Zitao leans back and brings the cup to his mouth, waiting for Yixing to reply.

‘Is it?’ Yixing’s gaze is clear, voice steady. ‘Is your gut telling you something is off?’

Zitao sucks in a breath. ‘What about you?’

‘I’m not the one married into this family,’ he replies, but it’s not a scold.

‘I want to research them,’ he says finally. ‘Clear their record.’

Yixing nods. ‘I can do that, but if they’re not…’

‘I’ll be fine.’ Zitao says it with confidence, thinking of Jongdae, of Junmyeon, of that party and all the strangers that watched him. ‘They can’t touch me now.’

-

Zitao admits he had suspected that Jongdae was simply riding the honeymoon high and he would ease off on the attentiveness when they settled back into the apartment. After all, there was no one else watching them and they hadn’t discussed any expectations of their relationship to each other - mostly because Jongdae sidesteps the conversation every time it comes up.

For now they find themselves seated at the kitchen table when Jongdae lays out his schedule for Zitao - parties, galleries, shows, galas, clubs all on the list next to the clients he has to meet at whatever odd hours they chose. ‘I won’t be around very regularly,’ he says. ‘You can come with me, if you’d like.’

‘And just be the pretty thing on your arm?’ Zitao knows better. ‘I can do business just as well as you can.’

‘Sure.’ Jongdae leans back in his seat, surprisingly amenable. ‘I watched you back in Jeju.’

He blinks, caught off-guard. ‘What about the party?’

‘You held your own while talking to the guests really well. Even Junmyeon-hyung was impressed.’ Jongdae smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘But until you brush up on your international banking laws, Tao, a pretty thing is all you can be for now.’

The blow stings. Zitao scowls, standing up quick enough to have his chair drag loudly against the floor. ‘Fuck you.’

Jongdae is still watching him, cold and calculating. ‘I thought I did that pretty well.’

Humiliation spikes in Zitao’s chest sharp and sudden, has him consider crashing the table into Jongdae’s face if only to see his expression change. He reigns in the impulse. ‘You think I don’t deserve to be here, but you don’t have a choice because I’m here now. So go be useful to your clients all by yourself, I don’t give a shit.’

He storms out of the apartment soon after to cool off. He knows Jongdae has a sharp tongue, isn’t above petty jabs just to get a reaction, but he hadn’t gone this far in the whole ten days they had spent together so far.

Zitao can feel a sour taste in his mouth, regretting visiting Yixing earlier when he was still floating on that honeymoon high of being spoiled in whatever he wanted. Of course that fantasy wouldn’t hold up under reality and he should just admit he married an asshole.

By the time the sun sets, Zitao figures he has to go home before Sehun is sent to chase him all over the city. The immediate anger has leaked out of him now, left his stomach twisted with disappointment in _himself_ \- he should have known better, expected less. Jongdae’s kindness has always been barbed.

When he finally does get back to the apartment, the first thing he notices is the smell of food. A particular smell. Curious now, Zitao pads through the living room and into the kitchen, and doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

The food is obviously ordered from a restaurant, still packed in its containers, even if the lids have been popped off - its all seafood, cooked Qingdao-style with extra spice. There’s grilled fish and fried shrimp, a cooling bowl of seafood stew and still-steaming rice on the side. The homesickness rises up sudden and overwhelming, tightening Zitao’s throat as his eyes burn. The loneliness he had felt while on his walk outside only seems to amplify - knowing he’s this far away now, so far far away from _home_.

‘You’re like… a cat,’ says Jongdae, appearing behind Zitao. ‘Slinking back home for food.’

Another insult. Zitao turns on him sharply, towering over him with a snarl, ‘what the hell is your problem?’

Jongdae doesn’t even flinch, no part of him intimidated despite the fact that he’s an entire head shorter than Zitao. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says.

Zitao stares. ‘What.’

_Now_ , Jongdae’s eyebrows draw together as if annoyed. ‘I’m sorry. For earlier. And now.’

‘Really?’ He sneers, willing to push if it means getting a reaction out of Jongdae.

‘ _Yes_.’ Clenching his jaw, Jongdae tries again. ‘I shouldn’t have… provoked you.’ He gestures towards the kitchen. ‘There’s dinner - I ordered it with you in mind.’

The sheer discomfort emanating from Jongdae - shoulders tensed, mouth pressed in a thin line, and eyes stubbornly trained on Zitao - seems proof enough that he’s trying to be sincere. Zitao watches him for a second longer, if only to make Jongdae suffer that much longer, before nodding. ‘Are you going to eat with me?’

The relief doesn’t set in until Jongdae realizes Zitao is serious. ‘Yeah, sure.’

-

Zitao waits until he’s done eating and watching Jongdae pack up the leftovers before he decides Jongdae’s relaxed enough to push again. ‘You were a lot nicer in Jeju,’ he remarks. ‘Was that just pretend?’

Jongdae busies himself with collecting bowls and chopsticks to place in the sink. ‘No.’ He’s silent, then heaves a sigh. ‘The food wasn’t enough?’

The food had been delicious, soothed Zitao’s nerves and had him feeling sated and drowsy, but he wasn’t going to be fooled by another sidestep, especially if this is what he would have to deal with everyday for the foreseeable future. ‘The least you can do is be honest for once.’

Turning around, Jongdae leans back against the counter, expression evaluating. ‘You think I’m lying?’

‘No. Just hiding.’

‘Not everything is your business, Zitao.’

_Oh_ \- he’d struck a nerve. ‘When I have to live with you, it is.’

Jongdae’s lips pull up into a sneer but he lets it drop a moment later. ‘In Jeju, I didn’t have to think about… my job. Now that we’re back in the city, things are different.’

Zitao bites back a reply, has to remind himself to be patient when Jongdae looks like he’d rather punch himself than actually _talk_ for once.

‘I need… a certain amount of freedom to come and go, meet with clients whenever they call me.’ He talks slow, picks his words carefully, avoiding looking at Zitao entirely. ‘You won’t be able to… know what I’m doing most of the time.’

‘So you want me off your back?’ Zitao asks.

Jongdae makes a face. ‘You’re good with people, but not these ones.’

‘And you thought,’ he drawls, ‘that pissing me off would get me to leave you alone.’

Instead of replying, he turns around and turns the tap, letting water stream out onto the dirty dishes in the sink.

‘And then I would forget all about our little argument after you apologized and I saw all the nice food you got just for me,’ continues Zitao, watching the tense line of Jongdae’s shoulders.

‘You’re good with people,’ he says finally.

‘Now what?’

Jongdae looks over his shoulder, brows furrowed. ‘What do you mean?’

Zitao finally deigns to lift himself from his seat at the kitchen table, walking up to Jongdae. ‘Is this a one-time deal? Or are you going to try other tricks?’

Of course he should’ve expected that Jongdae wouldn’t even look guilty about being called out. ‘Whatever works.’

‘You’re an asshole,’ snaps Zitao.

This time, Jongdae laughs. ‘You’ll be happy to know you’re not the only one who thinks that.’

The anger from earlier today has simmered down to annoyance. Zitao finds himself unable to come up with a reply, wants to say ‘I don’t give a shit about what you do’ because he _does_ , or maybe ‘don’t try that with me again’ except he’s not scolding a child, and there wasn’t any way he was going to beg, ‘just be honest with me’ when Jongdae avoided the truth like it was instinct.

Instead, he finds himself frustrated and tongue-tied, only coming back to himself when Jongdae rinses the last cup and dries his hands, looking up at Zitao expectantly. ‘Are you coming to bed?’

‘We’re not done,’ he huffs.

Jongdae raises his brows, neatly steps into Zitao’s space so that Zitao’s back is pressed against the edge of the counter. ‘I’ve said everything I wanted.’

His body heat and presence and heavy, dark gaze has Zitao pinned. ‘I haven’t decided whether I forgive you or not.’

‘Right.’ Jongdae looks away for a moment, giving Zitao a reprieve, before he’s stepping away. Surprised, Zitao almost follows the movement but stops himself when he realizes Jongdae isn’t going anywhere. ‘Zitao,’ he says. ‘I like you. I want you. What you do with that is your choice.’

Zitao swallows, mouth suddenly dry. ‘Don’t test me then.’

‘How else will I know you’re worth it.’

‘Worth what?’

Jongdae purses his mouth. ‘I haven’t decided.’ With that he turns around, clearly done with the conversation. ‘Come to bed if you want. I’m taking a shower.’

-

Over the next month, Zitao begins his own research. He chooses a handful of locations that had appeared on Jongdae’s schedule and digs into them, using Junmyeon and Sehun to gain easy access without letting Jongdae know. Jongdae could easily find out if he asked, but not immediately so - after all, Sehun reported directly to Minseok and Junmyeon had playfully agreed to a pact of secrecy with Zitao when Zitao mentioned he was doing this all for Jongdae.

There’s two five star restaurants, one high-profile club, and two galas on his list. Junmyeon secures him a reservation in the restaurants and Zitao uses the carte blanche of being Jongdae’s spouse to make sure he can enter the club and events as he pleases.

For his own amusement, he wanders the offices of the Kim banking headquarters, trying to familiarize himself with how they operated. Sehun had mentioned he had to report there before coming to pick up Zitao from the apartment and Zitao had decided to simply meet him there himself.

Past the offices is the Security branch; all Zitao has to do is flash his ID at the guards to gain access, striding through the hallways as if he always belonged there so that he wouldn’t be questioned. The discrete signs posted on the walls eventually guide him to the conference room that Sehun had said once was the bane of his existence - ‘every time I walk in there to report to hyung, there’s always someone else there and I get scolded in _front_ of them and it’s so embarrassing cause I _know_ everyone else knows now too.’

It’s there that Zitao runs into Minseok for the first time in person since the wedding.

The conference room is as expected - glass walls and long table, leather chairs and a set-up for video conference calling on the far end of the room. Minseok is seated in one of the chairs, dressed in a white button-up and tie, sleeves rolled up his arms as he types on his laptop. Next to him is another man with a pretty face, seemingly carefree as he spins slowly in his leather chair while Sehun stands across from them both and speaks.

Zitao raps on the glass door once and opens it, making the pretty man stop spinning and peer at him with wide eyes. Sehun looks over in surprise but Minseok’s eyes are still trained on his laptop screen. ‘Keep going, Sehun.’

Sehun looks back at Minseok. ‘R-Right, ah, today’s schedule includes lunch which I included in my report.’

‘Did you post security?’

‘No,’ he says. ‘I thought - I mean, since hyung owns - ’

‘Sehun,’ says Minseok, looking up at him with an expectant expression, both brows raised, the same way Jongdae looked when he was exasperated. Zitao can see the resemblance. Sehun wilts under Minseok’s gaze and nods.

‘I’ll get on that.’

Finally, Minseok seems to acknowledge Zitao in the room. He stands up and smiles, and the pretty man next to him follows. ‘If I had known you wanted to come here, I would’ve let Sehun go earlier,’ he says.

Vaguely, Zitao can hear Yixing’s voice in his head - _he’s the most good-looking_. Minseok has a youthful face but strong brows and broad shoulders, belying his physique even if he was the shortest man in the room. The rolled up sleeves show tattoos on his left arm, wrapping around the forearm in black and green, ending with a small pattern on the back of Minseok’s hand, his knuckles dotted with characters too small to make out.

Zitao smiles. ‘Do I need security that badly even in your own building?’

‘You never know,’ he says, slipping his hands into the pockets of his neatly pressed black slacks. ‘Success always comes with risks.’

‘At this rate, it’d be safer to stow away in Qingdao,’ he snorts, a little incredulous. He knows Jongdae has a bit of celebrity for being excessive in his purchases and having a couple speeding tickets here and there that would always vanish under the weight of money, but they acted as if Zitao was the one who was more at danger than Jongdae crashing his car into the Han river.

‘And separate you from Jongdae?’ Minseok laughs. ‘He’d hate that.’

Minseok seems too perceptive to needle into confessing like Zitao had done with Jongdae; he decides on sarcasm instead. ‘Because I’m so dear to him already.’

‘Aren’t you?’ The pretty man suddenly speaks up, dressed up in the usual suit and tie that Sehun wears when he’s on guard. ‘He made a fucking racket when you walked out of the apartment the other day.’

‘Luhan,’ Minseok says, nudging the other’s shoulder with his own.

‘I think Zitao should know,’ says Luhan. ‘Do us a favour and try not to scare him like that again - it gives us all extra work.’

Minseok rolls his eyes. ‘Luhan doesn’t mean that, he’s just annoyed at Jongdae like usual.’

‘We get paid overtime,’ says Sehun helpfully, and Luhan scowls at him.

‘As if that’s worth getting yelled at by h- ’

‘Anyway,’ says Minseok loudly, walking around the conference table towards Zitao. ‘I hope you don’t mind us hovering over you a little. As part of the family, you’re important to us, that’s all.’

Zitao can feel himself warm up under Minseok’s bright smile, the way he seems perfectly sincere. It’s similar to Junmyeon - sweet and insistent, but not overwhelming. He can’t help but smile back, a bit bashful. ‘I don’t mind. Will you let me keep Sehunnie?’

‘Take him,’ says Luhan.

Sehun sputters.

‘I came here for a reason,’ says Zitao, ignoring the remark. ‘I want an apartment for my own associate - Yixing.’

Minseok nods. ‘We have him at a hotel right now, don’t we?’

‘Yes.’

‘I can fix something up if you give me a week to vet out the places I have in mind.’

‘More security?’

He grins. ‘You can never be too safe.’

Zitao rolls his eyes. ‘And where is Jongdae’s bodyguard?’

‘He takes care of himself.’

‘Even when driving fast cars?’

Minseok pauses. ‘Well, he takes care of himself well enough.’

Luhan is laughing. ‘Could you _imagine_ what he’d do to his poor bodyguard if he got one?’

Sehun is hustling Zitao out of the conference room now. ‘Let’s just go before Luhan-ge starts.’

Zitao blinks in surprise at the honourific but then again, it doesn’t feel that surprising to know Luhan was Chinese. If the Kim conglomerate wanted to go international, their staff had better be ready to adapt.

By the time they’re in the underground parking, Sehun is whining about Zitao seeing him in front of his boss - but Zitao only teases him a little, his stomach tight with uneasiness at the whole exchange from earlier. Of course banks needed high levels of security, and the Kim clan had cut down on costs by simply using their own security, but to have that same attention on the family members felt like too much, no matter how much Minseok tried to brush it aside.

Especially considering Luhan had mentioned Jongdae didn’t take to Zitao wandering off alone very well. If there was an immediate danger to suddenly being married to Jongdae, no one was telling him - at least none of the brothers. But there was Sehun and there was Yixing on his side at least, and the thought relieves him.

-

Jongdae is dressing up for another one of his appointments when Zitao comes home one day. He bids goodbye to Sehun at the door and wanders down the hallway to the bedroom, walking in to see Jongdae shirtless and rummaging through their closet.

Even though Zitao’s seen it several times, the tattoo of Zhu Que is still just as arresting of a sight as the first time. The ink is bold and bright, the bird stretching itself along the skin of Jongdae’s back, it’s tail cut off from sight by the waistline of Jongdae’s pants. ‘Your brother has a tattoo too.’

Jongdae doesn’t seem surprised at the sudden interruption, glancing over his shoulder at Zitao who is peeling off his jacket and shirt to don something more comfortable. ‘I’m an only child.’

Zitao scoffs. ‘Your _hyung_.’

‘Which one?’

‘Minseok-hyung.’

Jongdae picks two colours of shirts and turns around. ‘Really? He usually keeps them hidden.’

‘Did you get them done together?’ Zitao goes to the closet now, letting his fingers run along the many clothes hung up, trying to choose.

‘Yeah. Junmyeon-hyung, Minseok-hyung, and I all have tattoos. Minseok-hyung has Hyeonmu and then decided to have it extended to a sleeve. Junmyeon-hyung got Cheong-ryong, and you’ve seen mine.’

Zitao finally picks out a jewel-toned green shirt and goes towards Jongdae, tossing it at him. ‘Wear that one.’

Jongdae blinks, one of his arms already in the sleeve of another shirt, but he shrugs out of it.

‘So only three of the four?’ He continues, sitting on the edge of the bed.

‘Jongin will get Baekho when he’s earned it.’

‘How’s that?’

‘Graduating university would be a start.’

Zitao cocks his head. ‘Why did you get Zhu Que out of the four?’

‘Why?’ Jongdae turns around to show off the tattoo, grinning over his shoulder. ‘Isn’t she perfect?’

‘You’re no dangerous tiger like your _little brother_? Or a mighty dragon like sweet Junmyeon-hyung? Just a big red bird?’

He scowls, spinning on his heel. ‘Jujak is a sacred beast.’

‘I’m just saying,’ drawls Zitao, enjoying the teasing. ‘You could have left Jongin to have the bird and you could’ve been a tiger.’ He claws at the air with a hand. ‘Especially since you even look like a cat.’

‘I do not,’ says Jongdae, and Zitao tries not to laugh at his pout. ‘If you don’t like her, keep it to yourself.’

‘I never said that.’

‘Such a brat,’ he says, throwing one of the previous shirts at Zitao.

It’s so unexpectedly childish that Zitao can’t help but flop back on the bed and laugh, feeling light in a way that he hasn’t in days, not when everything felt so _off_. But this much - banter, easy and teasing - it was comforting.

When he finally quiets, Zitao props himself up on his elbows, feels his throat tighten when he sees Jongdae watching him. The pout is gone now; just dark eyes and an unreadable expression. ‘What?’

Jongdae doesn’t reply for a second and Zitao can feel his skin warm up in want - embarrassingly quick. He has the shirt pulled over both arms still still unbuttoned so Zitao can see the white undershirt tucked under the waistband of his slacks.

‘Chen,’ he starts and is cut off when Jongdae is leaning over him, pulling the shirt off Zitao’s chest. He tries not to think about how quickly he’s kissing Jongdae, palms already pressed against the undershirt that stretches across Jongdae’s torso. Jongdae doesn’t laugh at the eagerness, just presses closer, enough for Zitao to start spreading his thighs open, inviting him in.

Instead, Jongdae pulls away, mouth wet and red, and shakes his head. ‘I need to head out soon.’

‘Then what was that?’ Zitao challenges, sitting up and watching Jongdae button up the green shirt, complementing the tan he had gotten under the Jeju sun. He looked much better now than if he ever dressed himself.

‘A reminder,’ says Jongdae, as if that means anything. He loops the silk tie around his throat next, tucking it under the collar. ‘I’ll be home late, don’t stay up.’

Zitao scoffs. ‘For you?’

‘Tao,’ he says, voice pitched in pretend-hurt. ‘Don’t be like that.’

‘Get moving,’ he snaps, one foot flailing out to smack Jongdae’s ass. He earns a slap on his leg in return but Jongdae leaves soon after, all pseudo-charm as he bids goodbye.

-

And that’s how it goes, for a few weeks. Yixing gets a small apartment close to Sehun, and Zitao spends his time with them both, getting used to his new skin as another representative of the Kim conglomerate and Jongdae’s trophy to hang on his shoulder whenever he slides into this gala or that party.

He knows he’s just a symbol for the family. Jongdae made that abundantly clear early on and his constant disappearance acts only solidified the message. Still, even if he was a symbol, he failed to see _what_ he represented. An international merger was the deal and Zitao was only in this to keep the Huang family stake in his hands as he deserved. The marriage had been done without fanfare, as expected, and life went on without any real hiccup.

Yet, it’s the way Junmyeon speaks to him, the way Minseok attends to him, the way Jongdae watches him. Like they’re assessing him, putting Zitao under a microscope to be dissected for no clear purpose.

The guests, at least, don’t seem to be hiding anything. Zitao can socialize with them as he has socialized with any other client back home. He can talk and charm and drop Jongdae’s name and no one bats an eyelash. Sometimes he gets tidbits in return - how Jongdae is very good at persuasion, exceptionally well-mannered, unfailingly polite, remembering even the slightest details when least expected.

Zitao supposes Jongdae keeps his attitude exclusively for his family.

Then there is the things Yixing digs up, helped along with Sehun’s knowledge of the company’s workings, able to identify names and titles in articles that mention the Kim conglomerate bank.

‘They’ve been in many scandals,’ is the conclusion. Every bank cuts a little on the side, does extra favours for the higher-end clients storing their assets, makes sure some loose ends are tied up very hush-hush so that all the money is clean and sorted and not up for debate despite the gaping holes in paperwork or accounting. It’s not completely unheard of at all - every business must bend for the customer a little after all.

What Yixing suggests is something… _more_ , and Zitao ignores it for now. There’s no proof. Just articles linking suspicious names to the Kim conglomerate with words such as ‘claimed’ and ‘alleged’ in between. The Kim name is clean. In fact, _pristine_.

‘I’m not saying they’re smuggling guns or drugs or whatever else into Seoul, Taotao,’ says Yixing softly, ‘but there are too many connections to _not_ say they’re… _involved_ in something less than legal.’

‘How much though?’ Zitao already feels unsettled; he needs proof, evidence to find a foothold and steady himself. ‘Where does the legality stop? How far do they go?’

‘I don’t know,’ he admits. ‘I don’t like it.’

Zitao doesn’t either, but… He’s involved now, somehow. Implicit in whatever is going on, and he deserves to know.

-

Sometimes Jongdae gone in the morning and then home by noon. Sometimes he leaves right after lunch or even dinner. Sometimes, strangely, he comes home at two or three in the morning.

Zitao sleeps deeply anyway - goes to bed alone and wakes up with an arm splayed over Jongdae’s stomach, blinking drowsily in surprise as he listens to Jongdae snoring softly beside him. When he tucks himself closer, he can smell something like cigarette smoke or the stale scent of alcohol, wonders just for a second if Jongdae really goes to clubs for business and not to enjoy himself.

‘I can’t dance,’ says Jongdae when Zitao asks him later. He’s on his laptop and tucked into the couch, looking small. Zitao sits on the other side of the couch and brings his legs up, just to annoy Jongdae by poking his thigh with his toes. Jongdae smacks his foot then grips the ankle, trying to make Zitao sit still, all the while never looking away from the laptop. Zitao wonders if he picked up that habit from Minseok.

‘Clubs aren’t for just for dancing,’ snorts Zitao, pretending to look at his phone. With one ankle hostage, he uses his other foot to burrow under Jongdae’s thigh, and Jongdae clicks his tongue, looking at him with an exasperated face.

‘I go to clubs because of my job, not because I enjoy them.’

Zitao hums, disbelieving. ‘Not even the alcohol?’

‘You know I don’t care about drinking,’ he says, rolling his eyes and looking back at his laptop. The hand on Zitao’s ankle eases up but doesn’t let go, remains a brand of warmth on his skin.

‘It’s not like they don’t have beer there,’ Zitao says, stubborn.

‘Overpriced beer.’

‘Since when were you so cheap.’

‘Tao.’

‘Chen,’ he says sweetly.

Jongdae is staring at him. ‘Is there a point to this?’

Zitao doesn’t know how to phrase it, even if he thinks about the possibility often. He wonders when Jongdae _cheating_ on him became an issue, but Jongdae’s erratic schedule and the fact that Zitao didn’t _know_ what he was doing pricked at him uncomfortably. He can recognize all of this was arranged for financial benefit, but still - there should have been… some sort of conversation first between them discussing the idea of fucking other people as an option if they didn’t feel satisfied with one another.

He’s quickly realizing there is no way to say it without sounding petty, opening himself up for some sharp mean jab at him being a silly jealous spouse by Jongdae. Then again, Zitao was the one who decided to bring it up in the first place.

‘Clubs are for meeting more than just clients.’

‘Like…?’ and Jongdae is really watching him now - eyes dark and unblinking, expression carefully blank.

Zitao swallows. ‘Dancing, drinking, fucking.’

‘Fucking,’ he echoes, the corners of his mouth curling up. Zitao tries to steel himself for whatever sharp remark Jongdae will throw at him, but it never comes. Instead, Jongdae closes the laptop and leaves it on the coffee table, before sitting angled on the couch, facing Zitao. ‘You think I’m fucking someone other than you?’

Zitao almost hates whenever all of Jongdae is focused on him because the intensity feels like a weight, pressing on Zitao’s chest, making it hard to breathe. He won’t give in though. ‘I’m _asking_ if you’re fucking someone else.’

‘No,’ says Jongdae, then: ‘do you believe me?’

There’s no hesitance in the answer, nothing uncomfortable in his body language. Jongdae is comfortable as ever, and Zitao knows either its truth or another well-practiced lie. ‘I don’t know.’

_That_ has Jongdae’s brows furrowing, a frown marring his face. ‘I’m not fucking anyone else. I don’t need to.’

‘What does _that_ mean,’ snaps Zitao, shoving his foot into Jongdae’s thigh, thinks maybe he can dislodge the weight of Jongdae’s gaze with it too.

Jongdae pushes Zitao’s foot away with an irritated noise. ‘I don’t want to fuck anyone else.’ He raises his hand, clearly gesturing to the wedding band on his finger. ‘I’m married to you.’

‘It’s an arranged marriage,’ Zitao presses, playing devil’s advocate, even if this is all what he wants to hear, something in Jongdae’s words giving him satisfaction. ‘We’re not in love, we don’t have to be monogamous.’

‘Shut up, Zitao,’ says Jongdae, voice low. There’s no snark here, only a note of warning. Zitao’s mouth goes dry; he wants to see what happens.

‘Nothing is stopping us from agreeing on seeing other people. I could be fucking someone else right now for all you know.’

In a instant, Jongdae is on him, knees digging sharply on either side of Zitao’s hips, a hand balancing him on the armrest of the couch, the other hand splayed over Zitao’s throat in a ghost of a grip. ‘Are you?’

Zitao stares back up at him, a bit overwhelmed. ‘Am I what, Chenchen?’

Jongdae’s mouth curls up in a sneer. ‘Are you fucking someone else? Are you cheating on me?’

Everything about this screams danger and all Zitao can do is feel his belly tighten with anticipation. ‘What would you do if I was?’

His eyes flash, hand on Zitao’s throat twitching. ‘You’re not.’

‘No,’ he agrees, ‘but if I was?’

‘You…’ For a moment, Jongdae seems speechless, eyes flickering over Zitao’s expression like he’s wondering if he’s missed something. ‘Don’t.’

‘That’s it? _Don’t_?’

‘You don’t want to know what I would do,’ and he says it with a complete seriousness, surprising Zitao.

‘What - would you kill him?’

Jongdae doesn’t even hesitate. ‘Yes.’

For a second, Zitao utterly, completely believes him, feeling desire and terror roil in his stomach. Then he’s scoffing, trying to play it off - ‘Chen, we’re barely friends - ’

‘You’re mine,’ he interrupts. ‘You belong to me, no one else, and I’ll kill anyone who thinks otherwise.’

For a second, Zitao doesn’t have a reply, then he’s being flooded with more feelings than he can name, trying to give voice to them all: ‘when did I become _yours_ \- I belong to _myself_ , you asshole - ’

Jongdae rolls his eyes and moves his hand from Zitao’s throat to his mouth, silencing him. He can feel the wedding band press into his bottom lip. ‘It’s a two-way street, you brat. You own me too, and you’re free to kill whoever steals me away.’

He pulls his hand away and Zitao is incredulous. ‘I’m not planning on killing anyone.’

‘Too bad,’ drawls Jongdae. ‘You might’ve been good at it.’

‘And what if I don’t _want_ to own you - you’re mean and rude,’ continues Zitao, ‘full of insults and so _loud_ in the mornings when I’m still trying to sleep - ’

Jongdae is laughing now, burying his face into Zitao’s neck. Zitao has half a mind to kick him off but Jongdae is heavier than he looks and it’s not worth the effort. ‘Fuck you,’ he adds when Jongdae starts to quiet down.

‘Tao,’ he croons, lifting himself back up, hovering so close to Zitao that Zitao wonders if he should just kiss him to shut him up. ‘You know I only want you.’

Zitao feels himself flush in embarrassment, ears burning. ‘Shut up.’

‘I like this - should I say it more often?’ Jongdae is grinning wide and smug. ‘You’re mine.’ He dips down, scraping his teeth along Zitao’s jaw. ‘I _own_ you.’

‘That’s not - ’ _That’s not how marriage even works_ , he wants to say but he is already warming up, feeling Jongdae’s possessiveness wrap around him like this is where he belongs. ‘You can’t have anyone except me,’ he says instead, voice rough, hands coming up to grip his shirt.

‘Just you,’ Jongdae agrees, kissing the length of Zitao’s throat.

‘Only me, only me,’ says Zitao, feeling desperation bubble up his throat as he arches up, trying to get closer to Jongdae. ‘Chen. Chenchen.’

‘Is that what you want?’ Jongdae asks against Zitao’s mouth.

And it is, it is, it is - buried deep in Zitao’s chest is that yawning _desire_ to be the _centre_ for someone, to be the most precious, most important - this part of him that’s so different from how people are _supposed_ to be, now all exposed for Jongdae to see and -

‘Want you to want only me, _love_ only me,’ he gasps out before Jongdae is kissing him hard and for the moment, its answer enough.

-

At home, they settle somewhat into a routine - if it can even be called that. More often than not, Zitao comes home to Jongdae either getting ready to leave or winding down after returning from some meeting or another.

Zitao will occasionally help him cook or take care of the laundry while Jongdae cleans the apartment. Sometimes, he’ll have Jongdae join him in watching a movie or peek over his shoulder while Zitao is on his laptop, so when he speaks or laughs, the sound vibrates through Zitao, surprising him at how warm it feels.

The domesticity isn’t uncomfortable, yet Zitao thinks there’s something missing. There’s still a distance between him Jongdae, wrapped up in Jongdae’s careful omission of his life and Zitao skirting around what he does when he’s with Yixing and Sehun that involves the Kim conglomerate.

Yet there are moments - quick, heated, gone as fast as they come - where Zitao feels like he sees something past the veneer of pleasantries that Jongdae has put up. The entire conversation they had about cheating felt like the opening Zitao had been looking for - Jongdae pinning him to the couch, promising Zitao something no one else would consider healthy.

And Zitao _revels_ in it, even if he doesn’t notice it at first - this promise of ownership. _To own Jongdae_. At first, it’s just small touches - to the shoulder, the neck, along Jongdae’s waist - and Jongdae might whine or huff that he’s _busy_ , Tao, please, but Zitao always has his attention a moment later.

 Then he pushes - has Jongdae gifting him with his own credit card, lending him a car from Junmyeon’s personal collection, makes sure Zitao knows he can have whatever he wants.

‘And if you can’t afford it?’

Jongdae looks at him. ‘There’s more ways to get something than just money.’

He has free reign as long as Sehun is with him when he goes out, living out a life fit for royalty. There is almost nothing that he can’t have, and he already feels like he’s proven that he owns the most important: Jongdae himself.

‘And what do you get out of it?’ Zitao has to ask when Jongdae notices he’s wearing new clothes. ‘I get all this from you and what do you get?’

Jongdae seems surprised at the question, shrugging and shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweats, dressed down for his day off. ‘I have everything I need.’

Zitao furrows his brows. ‘There has to be a catch. You can’t just give me all this and not expect anything back.’

‘Does there?’ He looks thoughtful. ‘I have my hyungs, I have my job, I get to do whatever I like, and I get to have you. What else do I need?’

‘You haven’t… asked anything from me yet,’ presses Zitao, trying to see through Jongdae, can’t help but feel incredulous that Jongdae doesn’t seem to be lying.

‘I did.’ Jongdae walks up to him, a hand reaching up to curl around the circumference of Zitao’s throat. ‘You’re mine. You agreed.’

The words have Zitao’s stomach tighten, meeting Jongdae’s gaze even if it feels too heavy. ‘This isn’t… normal.’

Jongdae laughs - sharp and loud. ‘Is that what you want, Tao? _Normal_?’ His grip tightens over Zitao’s throat for a second and Zitao makes an involuntary noise. ‘I thought you liked this.’

He lets go before Zitao can reply and it feels like his entire presence is folded back up - hidden behind the genial pleasantry that Jongdae wears like a second skin. ‘Maybe - I’ll take a kiss for every thousand won you spend,’ he drawls, the joke coming out too lighthearted considering a moment ago he was ready to choke Zitao. It leaves Zitao off-balance again, doesn’t know what to do, watching as Jongdae steps past him.

‘Chen,’ he says, and Jongdae stops, looks up with a curious expression. ‘I - I want to give.’

He’s exposing himself again - vulnerable and foolish - and he can feel himself flush as he rambles, ‘you keep - keep saying you need me, but I don’t - what do I do? I don’t work with you, I don’t even work at the company - so what is it that you need from me? Or - or is it just,’ he lifts his hand, looking down at the wedding band, ‘is it just this?’

 For the first time, Jongdae seems to hesitate. He doesn’t look at Zitao, clearly trying to find the words, but Zitao was willing to wait. It’s strange - the way Jongdae either goes sharp or doesn’t seem to know what to do when Zitao opens himself up like this, and if he wasn’t steeling himself for a rejection, Zitao would want to keep pressing at this part of Jongdae.

Finally, Jongdae seems to settle on irritation - ‘you don’t have to do anything, Zitao,’ - and tries to shoulder past. Zitao feels a spike of annoyance at the deflection, because _of course_.

‘Chen,’ he snaps, following him to the living room.

‘Why can’t you just shut up,’ says Jongdae, rounding on him with a scowl on his face.

‘It was a simple question.’

‘What do you _want_?’ He’s exasperated. ‘You can have whatever you want, but now _this_ \- I don’t fucking know.’

‘So you just stood there staring into space?’ Zitao sneers.

Jongdae’s lips curl back, baring his teeth, but he tries to reign back his temper as if it was a physical thing; his jaw clenches, posture straightening, tense and at attention, staring down Zitao in front of him. ‘What I want from you is - unreasonable.’

‘What - like a heart transplant?’ He scoffs. ‘I just _offered_ ; it’s not like you’re forcing me.’

‘I want you to stay,’ says Jongdae, seemingly annoyed, but he’s not looking at Zitao. ‘No matter what.’

‘Chen, we’re _married_.’

‘That’s not what I mean.’ Jongdae runs a hand through his hair. ‘Marriage - that - you can still leave, if you start to hate it here.’

Zitao keeps silent, waits.

Eventually, Jongdae seems to find the words. ‘You’re mine by marriage, and that’s - fine. But you can leave, and I wouldn’t stop you. But I want you to stay. Even - even if it’s bad.’

‘Is it going to get bad?’ Zitao asks quietly.

He seems tired, still unable to look at Zitao. ‘Not if I can help it.’

‘So you want me to never divorce you,’ he says, trying to keep it light, suddenly wanting to reach out and touch Jongdae. He steps closer, but his hands hover at his sides. ‘Do you even like me enough to want me around forever?’

Jongdae looks up. ‘Obviously.’

The tone is so matter-of-fact that Zitao can’t help but duck his head down, embarrassed but pleased. He hears Jongdae sigh in exasperation then a warm hand is cupping his jaw, drawing him down for a kiss. Zitao goes easily, looping his arms around Jongdae’s shoulders and kissing at the same slow pace for a few long moments, savouring the closeness.

When Jongdae draws away from the kiss, he stays close, lips brushing along the line of Zitao’s jaw, nosing just under his ear. ‘You are so, so easy to want, you know that?’

Zitao shudders from how low his voice is, presses himself closer against Jongdae.

‘Minseok-hyung and Junmyeon-hyung - they’re mine. My family, my blood. And now there’s you - and _fuck_ , you’re _so_ …’

‘I - I want you to need me,’ confesses Zitao. It’s the first time he voices it out loud and he can’t do anything but press his cheek into Jongdae’s dark hair, terrified that this is where Jongdae draws the line.

‘Is that it?’ Jongdae hums, still so close. ‘I tell you that you own me and you still want more? Want to feel needed too?’

‘Chen,’ blurts Zitao, muffled by his hair. All the parts of him that are darker, uglier, _not-okay_ climb up into his brain, and he feels like he can’t tamp them down when he’s around Jongdae. No one else needs to know he’s this wanting, this needy, this desperate for something that seems far more excessive than just a relationship.

And Jongdae could judge him for it, here and now, because even after satisfying all of Zitao’s greed, even letting him hold onto his childish possessiveness, Zitao still wants _more_.

Instead, Jongdae’s hands come to settle on Zitao’s waist, pulling his hips forward, and Zitao can feel the half-hard arch of Jongdae’s cock against his thigh. He doesn’t even think before he grinds forward, listening to Jongdae’s breath hitch.

‘I need you,’ says Jongdae, voice too low to be teasing. ‘I need you to stay here and belong to me. I _need_ you to be mine, Tao, no matter what.’

Zitao shudders, cupping Jongdae’s cheek and angling him for a kiss, wet and hot because he can’t think of any words that amount to the relief, the satisfaction that floods through him. There’s only a franticness to his movements, to make sure Jongdae understands that _yes_ , _yes_ , _yes_ \- to feel needed, to know he’s worth more than the rest, that he and _only_ he can have Jongdae, _fuck_ , it’s everything Zitao has ever wanted.

Vaguely, there’s some voice of reason that tells him he can’t do this. He can’t just make promises like this, can’t just hand himself over to some man he’s only known for a few months, just because Jongdae is willing to indulge all the awful, greedy parts of him.

He drowns it out with sheer desire.

Still kissing Jongdae, he begins nudging him towards the couch, and Jongdae gets the idea after a moment, walking backwards until his calves hit the furniture. Zitao mewls ‘ _please_ ’ and Jongdae sits, his thighs spread and arms open for Zitao to come straddle his lap like he’s done before.

Shaking his head, Zitao kneels, his hands going to the waistband of Jongdae’s sweats.

‘Please,’ he says again, and Jongdae lifts his hips so Zitao can tug the sweats down to his knees. He can’t help but slow down a little to admire the bright flash of colour over Jongdae’s thigh. After admiring Zhu Que for weeks stretched along the expanse of Jongdae’s back, Zitao momentarily forgets that the tattoo continues onto Jongdae’s thigh.

Kneeling before him, Zitao can soak in the details of the bird’s tail feathers curling around Jongdae’s hip and stretching in four long strands along the top of his thigh. The feathers are outlined delicately in black so that the red colouring seems that much brighter, and Zitao can’t resist touching.

He should have the patience to undress Jongdae completely, to at least take off his own newly-bought clothes; instead, Zitao is lining his fingers over the tail feathers, feeling the hard muscle of Jongdae’s thigh underneath. When Jongdae hums in approval, Zitao feels a sudden urge swell up in his chest - to tell Jongdae, to let him know, to make him _understand_ -

‘ _Fuck_ , Tao - ’ groans Jongdae when Zitao doesn’t even wait to slide his mouth down Jongdae’s half-hard cock. One of Jongdae’s hands threads through Zitao’s hair already, petting him appreciatively as Zitao gets Jongdae’s cock fully hard between his lips.

Zitao moans, suckling at the head, looking up at Jongdae from under his lashes, trying to watch. Jongdae doesn’t look away as he hisses under his breath, his cock thickening, and Zitao can feel its warmth and weight on his tongue, the way his lips stretch around the girth.

His hands are holding onto Jongdae’s thighs, head bobbing so that Jongdae’s cock slides over his tongue, trying to tell him _need me need me need me_ with every frantic suck. He can feel Jongdae’s thighs tense under his hands but still, Jongdae refuses to fuck into Zitao’s mouth, and the hand still threaded through Zitao’s hair doesn’t take a grip.

Pulling off with a filthy wet noise, Zitao tries to find the words for what he wants, dropping his mouth open over the crown, looking up at Jongdae. ‘Chenchen.’

Jongdae looks down at him, his free hand curling around the base of his cock to drag the head along Zitao’s bottom lip. ‘Don’t want it anymore?’ He doesn’t seem to be joking and Zitao mewls, tongue slipping out to taste the precome. ‘Thought so.’

The hand in Zitao’s hair finally tightens, tugs him forward so that Zitao is forcibly taking half of Jongdae’s cock into his mouth. ‘Fuck - just like that.’ He can feel the pressure from Jongdae’s grip, doesn’t fight it even as the head of his cock hits the back of Zitao’s throat, threatening to make him gag.

‘Shit, don’t move,’ he groans, pushing his hips up so his cock lodges into Zitao’s throat, and Zitao’s mouth can brush the skin of Jongdae’s abdomen. He gags, trying to breathe, but Jongdae doesn’t let up, choking him with his cock for several long seconds, moaning at the flutter of Zitao’s throat around the crown.

Finally, he lets go, pulling Zitao off his cock. Zitao coughs, trying to catch his breath, feeling his drool spill over his lip and streak down his chin, all messy. Still, he can’t even think of backing out, not when Jongdae is guiding him back down, slower now so Zitao can drag his tongue all along the underside.

‘That’s good, you’re so fucking good,’ he breathes, slowly pumping his hips into Zitao’s mouth, using him up with long, lingering thrusts, making Zitao drool that much more. Zitao breathes to the rhythm, feeling himself focus on Jongdae’s voice, the low, pretty moans that always spilled from his mouth.

Zitao can feel himself hardening in his pants, but he can’t bring himself to care, not when he can taste Jongdae’s precome on his tongue. This is where he wants to be - mouth stretched over Jongdae’s cock, being used for Jongdae, knowing that no one else can do this for him, no one else can melt Jongdae’s spine and make him moan, no one will ever take Zitao’s place.

‘Gonna fuck your mouth,’ says Jongdae after a moment, hips stilling and exhaling loudly when Zitao moans around his cock. ‘You’re so fucking desperate.’ He thrusts quickly into Zitao’s mouth just then, choking him for a second, before pulling back and doing it again. Distantly, Zitao can hear the wet noises of his spit all over Jongdae’s dick, how he gags when the head hits the back of his throat, can’t help but revel in how filthy it all is.

And Jongdae loves it too, makes sure Zitao knows it: ‘you take my dick so fucking good,’ he groans when he forces Zitao to deepthroat his cock, ‘feel that? Feel how I fill you up just like this?’ Zitao gags, moans, eyes watering as he stares up at Jongdae, completely enraptured by the flush on Jongdae’s cheeks, the intensity of his gaze.

When Zitao is dragged down Jongdae’s cock the next time, Jongdae forces him to stay there again. ‘Choking on my dick and loving it,’ he gasps, grinding into the flutter of Zitao’s throat. ‘Feels so fucking good - god - you’re so perfect.’

The praise washes over him, warms him as he lets his body sink into weightlessness from the lack of air. Jongdae is attentive - pulls Zitao off his cock only a few seconds later and letting him breathe, feel the high that always came with the first gasp. It runs through him, making him go loose.

‘This is what you wanted,’ says Jongdae, voice quiet and reverent. Zitao keeps his mouth open, eyes half-lidded, and Jongdae understands - fucks his mouth without pause or restraint. It’s rough and a touch mean, has the corners of Zitao’s lips stretch around the girth of Jongdae’s cock when he doesn’t fuck in straight enough.

There’s spit all over Jongdae’s cock, all over Zitao’s mouth, down his chin, making slick filthy noises with each thrust, and Jongdae’s only complements it all with a stream of praise - ‘ - just like this, no one can have you like this, all for me when I want it - ’ - that has Zitao mewling pathetically.

‘Need you, need you,’ pants Jongdae, hips stuttering, ‘fuck - Tao - _Tao_ \- ’ as he approaches his end. Zitao tries to moan even louder, wants to welcome him, wants him to use Zitao till the end like he promised. And Jongdae does - gasping as his cock twitches with another thick flood of precome - before he stuffs his dick down Zitao’s throat, grinding in for that last bit of friction over the crown.

With that gorgeous low note that Zitao loves hearing, Jongdae comes hard, spilling warm and thick all over Zitao’s tongue, and Zitao swallows, doesn’t even consider an alternative. He makes sure to keep Jongdae’s cock between his lips until Jongdae is done and kitten-licks it clean from the tip all the way to the base, uncaring that Jongdae’s cock was softening.

‘Tao, Zitao,’ murmurs Jongdae, both his hands combing through Zitao’s hair, making him look up so the cock slips out between his lips. ‘Taozi, come here.’

The nickname has his chest going unexpectedly tight and Zitao’s eyes burn anew. He clambers onto the couch, graceless and loose-limbed, and Jongdae lets him settle into his lap, arms wrapped strong and steady around Zitao’s waist.

His thoughts are still floating, unable to come back down to his own body. All he can do is hide his face in Jongdae’s throat, listening him murmur so soft, so quiet, ‘you’re perfect, Taozi, so fucking perfect.’ Zitao shudders hard, holding onto him with nails clawing into his shoulders, legs drawn close to his chest despite being so much taller, so much bigger than Jongdae.

And Jongdae doesn’t seem to mind - that Zitao isn’t small, no matter how much he feels it. He just keeps holding onto Zitao, keeps his voice so gentle, and waits for Zitao to reel himself back into his head.

It’s warm here, thinks Zitao dreamily. It’s safe here.

-

(‘Why four?’ He asks later, fingers tracing the feathers over Jongdae’s thigh, nail following the delicate black outlining around the bright colour.

It’s evening now - they’ve eaten, showered, taken to bed. Zitao had manhandled Jongdae against the sheets before he could dress himself, bare skin pressed against his own - warm and comforting.

Jongdae is clearly drowsy - it’s in the way his lashes cast low, spreading shadows over his cheekbones, how his mouth looks soft to touch. Naked and spread over dark sheets, Zitao can’t help but marvel a little how attractive Jongdae is - the fading tan from Jeju painted over the curve of muscle from biceps along a flat stomach, following the sharp jut of his hips down to the thickness of his thighs and calves.

‘Four…?’ He blinks slow at the question, one of his hands ghosting along Zitao’s side, the touch almost ticklish. Zitao is propped on one elbow, peering down at Jongdae, pleased when he realizes Jongdae’s eyes are following the lines of Zitao’s body as well. He fakes a stretch and arches his back, just to see Jongdae’s mouth part around a breath at the sight.

‘Chenchen,’ he says, laughing under his breath. ‘Pay attention.’

Jongdae hums, unashamed at being caught, before tensing his thigh under Zitao’s fingers, looking down at the tattoo. ‘I added them one at a time. S’been awhile since the last one… half a year? Ever since we finalized the deal with your family.’

There is enough space between the feathers for Zitao to lay his fingers one at a time on each, thumb resting just on the inside of Jongdae’s thigh. ‘Will you add more?’

‘I don’t know.’ His voice is unexpectedly soft, muted. Zitao looks up; finds Jongdae watching him with an unreadable expression. ‘Maybe I’ll have to add a feather for you one day.’

Zitao feels pinned under the gaze but doesn’t pull away. ‘I expect something a little bit more special than a feather.’

Jongdae laughs suddenly, throwing his leg over Zitao’s hip to pull him overtop Jongdae, have Zitao cage him in with knees and forearms pressed on either side. ‘You’re right. Until then - you’ll just have to make your mark like this.’

He tips his chin up, shows off the line of his throat, and Zitao doesn’t hesitate - sinks his teeth in.)

-

They are naming a library after Junmyeon. Jongdae is silently approving - doesn’t bring up the topic a single time when Junmyeon drops by the apartment to tell them and also have dinner. Zitao had invited him - just to surprise Jongdae, catch him off-guard - and Jongdae hadn’t even blinked. Simply nodded at the announcement and saved the details into his phone while Junmyeon and Zitao chatted.

Only after Junmyeon leaves does Zitao catch Jongdae on his laptop in bed, shuffling his money around into a series of anonymous donations to be done in a few months’ time. Zitao just watches, curled up next to him and curious, and Jongdae doesn’t bother to hide the screen.

Once the laptop is shut and placed on the bedside table does Jongdae finally say, ‘don’t tell  Junmyeon-hyung.’

Zitao blinks slow and hums. ‘Don’t want hyung to know you’re interfering with his charity project?’

‘I used to be poor,’ says Jongdae abruptly. ‘Minseok-hyung too.’ He’s still sitting up, looking down over at Zitao curled next to his hip. ‘Junmyeon-hyung raised us both up from being a discarded part of the family to the chaebol, decided to bring us - his _cousins_ \- directly into the fold and give us all of this. He’s always been generous like that.’

‘Is this how you pay him back?’

‘He’d hate that,’ he replies. ‘But like this - it’s fine, isn’t it?’

For a moment, Zitao just looks back up at Jongdae before it sinks into him that the question isn’t rhetorical. Jongdae’s expression isn’t that usual self-assured arrogance that carries in the line of his shoulders and the curl of his mouth; instead, there is expectation, awaiting an answer.

Though they’ve lived together for a few months now, the vulnerability still catches Zitao completely off-guard. He nods - the first thing that comes to mind - and then draws near to throw an arm across Jongdae’s stomach, pull him down. To his relief, Jongdae goes easily, and Zitao presses his face into the soft sleep shirt and nods again. When Jongdae’s arms comes around his shoulders, he holds Zitao close.

-

The naming ceremony is in the morning, the celebration gala in the evening. Sehun drives them both, and Minseok steps out into the lobby of the building to greet them.

‘There’s a few uninvited guests,’ he says to Jongdae as they walk across the polished floor. ‘They’ve been waiting for you.’

Jongdae rolls his eyes. ‘I told them to be patient.’ He’s holding Zitao’s hand and Zitao can feel how he tenses up. He squeezes back in reassurance, and Jongdae looks up, seemingly surprised. ‘Taozi - go enjoy. I need to take care of some business. I’ll find you later.’

‘ _Taozi_ ,’ croons Minseok, hiding his grin behind his single gloved hand. ‘That’s _adorable_.’

‘Compared to Chennie?’ Zitao laughs, only to get elbowed by a whining Jongdae.

‘How about you keep that at _home_ ,’ he says with a pout, childish but more relaxed than before.

The double-doors leading to the main floor are closed, and Zitao pulls away for a moment, just to watch at how Jongdae puts on his face. It’s instantaneous - how the pout melts away into an expression of arrogance, eyes hooded and dark, one hand tucked into the pocket of his slacks as he gestures with his free hand for Zitao’s arm. ‘Come.’

Zitao fits himself against Jongdae’s side as naturally as he breathes. Minseok pushes open the double-doors and they step inside together.

-

It’s been an hour since Jongdae had vanished from Zitao’s sight. Junmyeon is still entertaining guests and Minseok is comfortably leaning against the far wall, his bare hand clasped by his gloved one as he keeps watch over the room. There are other security guards scattered around the perimeter of the room, inconspicuous amongst the colour and conversation of the actual guests.

After a dozen of these celebrations, Zitao feels like he has a handle on the repeat guest list, and he can’t help but track the room for strangers, more curious than anything. The industrialists were often easy to spot - subpar cut-clothes with a flair for expensive accessories to make up for the lack. Politicians wore their clothes like a second skin, moving quickly and efficiently, speaking with a certain rhythm that almost seemed to lull. Then there were the ordinary folk - their first time amongst influencers. Made up carefully but not enough - lacking the over-the-top extravagance that shone from their jewellery and shoes. Zitao couldn’t help but drift near the artists, the ones with old money, sometimes - rarely - the new-money clans. They were the ones that did it best - experience and disposable income to shine the brightest, speak the loudest, work the room to get the best result.

Then - the uninvited guests. One had apparently found Zitao.

‘Congratulations,’ he says to Zitao - cheery and loud. His hair is unstyled but his makeup is heavy on the eyeliner. It makes him look much younger than he must be in reality. ‘Though I guess I’m like three months too late, huh?’ He laughs, voice pitched _just_ high enough to be grating. ‘Sorry - I’m Baekhyun.’

‘Zitao,’ he offers in return. ‘Congratulations for what?’

‘Marrying that asshole,’ replies Baekhyun, jerking his head to the side. Zitao looks up over Baekhyun’s shoulder, finds Minseok standing next to Jongdae, both of them watching Zitao. Something wasn’t right. He jerks when he feels a hand grabbing his wrist, but Baekhyun is just turning over his palm, looking up at Zitao with an expectant expression.

‘What?’ Zitao snaps, feeling off-balance, but Baekhyun doesn’t seem bothered by the lack of manners.

‘My boss wants to congratulate you in person,’ says Baekhyun matter-of-factly as he pulls a business card and presses it into Zitao’s palm. ‘I’d keep this out of Jongdae-ah’s sight if I were you.’ He folds Zitao’s fingers around the card and guides Zitao’s hand to the pocket of his suit jacket. ‘He’s coming, isn’t he?’

Zitao glances up, feels a spike of anxiety when he spots Jongdae cutting across the floor, eyes dark and flashing and _dangerous_ as he watches them both. Zitao doesn’t even think before he pockets the business card, hearing Baekhyun’s cheery, ‘there you go.’

Just as Jongdae is only a few feet away, Baekhyun suddenly steps away, voice loud: ‘let’s hope we meet again, okay, Zitao-yah?’ Then he’s turning around, purposefully running into Jongdae and almost getting knocked back by Jongdae’s forearm braced across his chest.

‘Chanyeollie is waiting outside for you,’ says Jongdae, mock-sweet. ‘I wouldn’t keep him waiting.’

‘I just wanted to congratulate your new husband, Jongdae-ah,’ says Baekhyun, stepping away from the other and making his way towards the entrance. ‘Hope to see you again - you should bring Zitao-yah next time.’

Suddenly, Minseok is also there. Standing there, his lack of height disappears under the sheer presence that exudes from him. He gestures with his gloved hand. ‘It’s time for you to go, Baekhyun.’

‘I’m going, I’m going,’ says Baekhyun, lighthearted and grinning, shooting a last wave at Zitao.

Zitao doesn’t wave back. He feels like he can’t move, like he can’t _breathe_ , as he stands next to Jongdae, choking on the sheer hatred emanating from the other. Suddenly, any closeness Zitao thought he had with Jongdae evaporates as he realizes he doesn’t know what to do - if he should reassure Jongdae, or comfort him, or distract him from the tenseness and anger seeping out of him.

‘Jongdae,’ he starts, jerks in surprise when Jongdae looks up at him sharply, his dark eyes unblinking and intense.

‘What did he say to you?’

‘He - He just said his name and congratulations,’ he says, intensely aware of keeping his hands away from his pockets. ‘Walked away right after.’

Jongdae watches him for a second longer, and it feels like Zitao is being stripped down, looking for even a hint of a lie. Zitao doesn’t back down, and eventually Jongdae is turning towards Minseok, mouth curled up in a snarl that showed his teeth.

‘Go home,’ says Minseok softly, laying his bare hand on Jongdae’s arm and squeezing. ‘You won’t be able to focus anymore anyway if you stay.’

Jongdae reigns back his expression, exhaling in a slow hiss, and Minseok dips even closer. Zitao watches - rapt with how Jongdae’s shoulders drop when Minseok hides Jongdae’s face in his neck, holding him still for a few long seconds. The closeness has a spike of acid jealous rise up at the back of his throat, makes his stomach tight, and Zitao impulsively reaches out to hold Jongdae’s hand, try to draw him back.

It takes a moment, but eventually Jongdae reacts - pulling away from Minseok and settling beside Zitao. Minseok takes out his car keys from his front pocket and hands them over to Jongdae. ‘Take my car back and I’ll call Sehun to take me back when I’m done here.’

‘What about Junmyeon-hyung?’

Minseok rolls his eyes. ‘He’ll understand. Just go. Tao, will you go with him?’

‘Yes,’ says Zitao immediately, glad at least that the waves of sheer anger had eased out of Jongdae for now. Nevertheless, he was still tense, and Zitao wanted to comfort him _and_ prod at him as to who Baekhyun was, why he was here, what he wanted from Zitao.

‘Let’s go,’ says Jongdae, uncharacteristically quiet, and Zitao goes.

-

Minseok’s car is exactly what Zitao would have guessed for someone involved in security - a sleek black four-door with heavily tinted windows and a dark leather interior. He sits in the passenger’s seat while Jongdae drives, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear shift, and Zitao can’t help but watch as the streetlights make the wedding band on Jongdae’s shine even in the shadows of the car.

‘Who was that?’ Zitao asks softly, looking up to Jongdae’s face now, not wanting to miss a single tic.

‘Byun Baekhyun,’ says Jongdae, not looking away from the road. ‘Personal assistant to Dyo Kyungsoo, owner of a goods transportation company.’

‘A client?’

Pause. ‘Yes.’

‘You hate him,’ says Zitao.

Jongdae’s body is back to tensing up again - shoulders drawing tight as he stubbornly stares at the road, despite the fact that the traffic was minimal this late at night on a weekday. ‘His boss has been… uncooperative lately. I don’t like dealing with him or his assistant.’

‘You thought he would bribe me or something?’ It wasn’t unheard of to have big clients cut corners in their bank dealings; Zitao wasn’t ignorant about malpractice.

‘I wouldn’t put it past them,’ he says, ‘to use you against me.’

The words snake through Zitao’s veins, pricks at the feeling coiled in his gut. ‘Is that it? I’m your weakness?’

Jongdae glances over sharply at him. ‘Don’t believe anything these people say to you.’

‘About you?’ Zitao reaches over, trailing his fingers lightly over the back of Jongdae’s hand.

‘Zitao,’ he says, voice low. A warning.

Zitao draws back, leaning back into his seat. ‘I’ve never seen you that angry before.’ He can’t help but remember Minseok, how he could ease Jongdae’s hackles with just his presence. ‘Good thing Minseok-hyung was there.’

Jongdae doesn’t reply for a moment. The city streetlights slide over the interior, illuminating the small keyhole of the dashboard panel in front of Zitao. He reaches out to tug at the handle, but it’s locked.

‘If he ever approaches you again,’ starts Jongdae quietly, ‘alert security.’

‘You said he was an assistant, not an assassin,’ scoffs Zitao. ‘If all I have to do is refuse his bribe, I can handle it.’

The hand on the steering wheel tightens. ‘I can’t guarantee he won’t threaten you, Tao.’

‘With what?’ Zitao looks at him. ‘With you? With my family that are overseas? With Yixing and Sehun who he doesn’t know about?’

And its back - the familiar wave of frustration and anger exuding from Jongdae’s frame as he tries to hold his temper back, _hates_ being questioned and challenged. ‘Then talk to him. But only after you’ve alerted Minseok-hyung’s staff.’

‘You don’t trust me,’ says Zitao flatly.

‘Zitao - just do this one damn thing,’ snaps Jongdae, white-knuckling the gear shift.

‘I don’t ask about what you do when you go out,’ he says, annoyed. ‘I don’t pry into your business and your long list of clients. But if I’m going to get involved in it, I have the right to fucking know what’s going on, Chen.’

‘ _Fine_ ,’ replies Jongdae, mouth curled back in scowl. ‘Do what you fucking want.’

Zitao has a sudden urge to hit him. ‘You’d rather not tell me at all then.’

Except Jongdae’s gone silent, his jaw clenched tight. The urge to punch him in the cheek rises, and Zitao takes a deep breath to stop himself. He wants to rationalize it - Jongdae is protecting him, keeping him in the dark, keeping him away from things that maybe Zitao shouldn’t be involved in, but that just makes everything fucking worse. Zitao doesn’t _want_ Jongdae to be involved in _anything_ that skirts the law, much less breaks it. He wants a regular spouse and a regular marriage and not worry that one day Jongdae will go too far and someone finds out - _Zitao finds out_ \- and he couldn’t rationalize it then.

‘I wish you would just trust me,’ he spits out, frustrated, glaring out the darkened window at the city lights. They look muted, dim; like fairy lights strung up along above the roads.

‘It’s complicated,’ says Jongdae after a moment, his voice rough. Zitao glances over, glad that at least he’s loosened his grip on the steering wheel. The frustration shimmers around him, but Zitao wonders if it was directed at him.

He figures a test couldn’t hurt. With one hand, Zitao reaches towards the gear shift and curls his fingers around Jongdae’s hand, feeling the warmth of his skin, wanting to soothe. In reply, Jongdae exhales loudly, knocking his head back against the seat as he watches the traffic lights change up ahead.

‘Are you even angry at me?’ Zitao asks, careful to not make it sound pitiful.

Jongdae is quiet for another city block before he shakes his head.

Again, that urge builds in his gut - the one where Zitao _wants_ more than what he has. He wants to comfort Jongdae, know instinctively how to move, touch, speak, the way Minseok knew back there. Even thinking about it again leaves a bitter taste of jealousy at the back of his throat, but he swallows it down, tries to focus.

Neither of them bothered to put on seatbelts, which makes it easier for Zitao to shuffle over in his seat and lean into Jongdae, tucking his face under Jongdae’s still-tense jaw. His lashes tickle against the skin, making Jongdae sigh, tipping his head to the side to press his cheek over Zitao’s hair. ‘Tao.’

‘Yes,’ he hums, bringing an arm across Jongdae’s chest, fingers idly playing with the lapels of the suit jacket. ‘I’m not Minseok-ge, but…’

‘What does that mean?’ Jongdae asks, but his voice is soft, careful, as if he doesn’t want to stir Zitao from his position.

He drags his hand down, feeling the flat muscle of Jongdae’s stomach under the shirt he’s wearing. Skipping over the belt, Zitao drags his palm slow over where he can feel Jongdae’s cock underneath, curling his fingers to feel the tailored inseam of the dress pants.

‘Please,’ murmurs Zitao, feeling Jongdae tense underneath.

‘I don’t… need this,’ he sighs out.

Zitao rolls his eyes. ‘You’re pissed. If not at me, then definitely at that assistant. At yourself.’

Jongdae doesn’t reply for a moment, then he’s scoffing. ‘You think _this_ is going to help?’ He slows the car down all of a sudden. ‘You want to go - what - dogging by the river?’

The idea shoots heat through Zitao but he doesn’t move. Fine - he’d go at this another way.

‘Nevermind.’ Zitao brings his hand back up along Jongdae’s chest, pressing his face closer into Jongdae’s neck. Jongdae is warm and solid, supporting Zitao’s weight easily, and his skin smells of his body wash in the shower, his hair like Zitao’s shampoo that he steals. It’s comfortingly familiar. ‘I just thought... you were pissed at ah, Baek - Baekhyun? seeing me. Since I belong to you.’

The car is accelerating again, and Jongdae shifts gears smoothly, but keeps silent.

‘Or maybe you’re pissed at the thought of me meeting him again and treating him like a client this time. I’d smile at him and tell him he’s welcome, promise him that I would talk privately later.’

‘You wouldn’t.’ Jongdae’s voice is low and final.

‘Does that bother you?’ Zitao hums. ‘I just want to help you. You said his boss wasn’t cooperating. Maybe I could convince him instead.’

‘ _Zitao_.’

‘Calm down.’ Zitao smoothes his fingers over the lapels slowly. ‘Are you mad or not - pick one.’

‘You’re being,’ starts Jongdae but stops, takes a turn with one hand so that he doesn’t have to dislodge Zitao from how he’s pressed into Jongdae’s side. ‘I’m not - going to _use_ you when I feel like this.’

‘Feel like what?’ He presses, relentless.

‘ _Pissed off_.’ Jongdae flexes his grip on the steering wheel. ‘Satisfied?’

Zitao replays how Minseok brought Jongdae close to him, hand on him, hiding Jongdae’s face in his neck, keeping him still and grounded until his temper slid out of him. There _is_ satisfaction now, knowing that it wasn’t _enough_ ; Minseok holding onto Jongdae was a band-aid solution, that Jongdae was still thrumming with something far darker and meaner and no hyung’s good intentions could simply sweep it away.

‘I don’t want that,’ says Zitao simply, ‘so use me.’

‘ _Fuck_.’ Jongdae looks up at the street signs when they go through the intersection, taking a turn soon after. He’s driving at the same pace but Zitao can feel the tension pulling Jongdae tight.

Zitao wants to say he’s anticipating it - whatever Jongdae needs to do to feel like he can fit under his skin again, if it’ll end up like other nights where Jongdae will pin his wrists down or eat him out until his voice goes hoarse from begging. Instead, Zitao can’t think of anything other than _right now_ ; wants to imprint it in his mind.

Jongdae, who is warm, who lets Zitao do as he likes, who carefully drives with one hand because he doesn’t want Zitao to pull away. Jongdae who smells just a little like Zitao, a bit of himself, only a spritz of cologne that lingered along the edges that reminded Zitao of watching Jongdae dress himself before they had left. Jongdae who looks beautiful even now when the streetlights sharpen his features with shadow, play over his lashes, making him look strangely delicate, and Zitao can’t help but think how Jongdae can be as soft as he is mean.

He only rouses from his thoughts when Jongdae parks in the underground garage, shifting the gear into place and pulling up the parking brake. ‘Chenchen.’

‘Hm?’

Zitao finally pulls away and doesn’t expect Jongdae to follow; he can’t help a soft noise when Jongdae’s pulling him in with a hand on his cheek, kissing him slowly, carefully. It’s too gentle, not what Zitao expects when Jongdae is still not recovered from the night, but he melts into it anyway, is helpless to affection.

‘Chen - Chenchen,’ he repeats between the kisses, both hands fisting Jongdae’s suit jacket and trying to tug him in closer, except the gearbox was in the way.

‘What is it?’ This time, Jongdae’s voice is low and clear, and the authority of it shoots straight into Zitao’s simmering arousal. He tugs at Zitao’s wrists for him to let go, ignoring the whine of protest, and Zitao is relieved that it’s so Jongdae can take off the damned thing entirely. Clad in his tie and button-up, Jongdae reaches out again, and Zitao eagerly meets him halfway, kissing him harder this time.

It’s when he hits his knee into the gear shift trying to get closer to Jongdae that Jongdae pulls away, eyes dark and mouth red. ‘Get in the back seat.’

‘This is Minseok-ge’s car,’ exhales Zitao, the realization just making him feel hotter.

‘I’ll get it cleaned in the morning,’ he replies, which is enough for Zitao to clamber between the front seats and into the back. He watches Jongdae pop open the gearbox - ‘I’m sure Luhan fucking left something in here,’ - before pulling out lube and tossing it into Zitao’s lap. ‘I’m going to fuck you in this car.’

Zitao moans.

Jongdae takes off his tie, smoothing out the silk between his fingers. ‘Take off your clothes.’

He obeys. It doesn’t take more than a minute for Zitao to be sitting completely naked against the soft leather, his clothes crumpled into a pile in the front passenger’s seat. Jongdae has the top buttons of his shirt undone, sleeves pushed up along his forearms so Zitao can’t miss the sheer muscle there, how one of his hands still holds the tie.

As inelegant as Jongdae looks climbing between the front seats into the back, Zitao doesn’t even think of laughing; he only _wants_ now. Jongdae settles beside him, one hand spreading open Zitao’s thigh, making him lean back.

‘Did you - ’ he starts, eyes on Zitao.

Zitao nods. It was a habit now after all. Sliding down the seat so his ass is at the edge, Zitao reaches between his thighs, his fingers finding the base of the plug and tugging on it gently. Every time Jongdae brought Zitao out to these events - parties, galas, fundraisers, dinners - Zitao couldn’t _help it_ ; opened himself in the bathroom after he was done showering, sliding the plug inside, wanting to make sure he was stretched and ready so he could have Jongdae as soon as it was over.

At first it was just a way to rile Jongdae up when his fingers slid south, finding the toy and wanting to fuck Zitao that much better for it. Then Zitao noticed the strings of possessiveness Jongdae wanted to wrap him in afterwards, hissing about how gorgeous he looked, how everyone simply _falls_ for him whenever they talk, how they all just fucking _love_ Zitao, don’t they? It was only a matter of time till Zitao decided he wanted to be ready all the time, if only so Jongdae could get inside him quicker, fuck him harder, press that burn of jealousy and desire so deep into Zitao that Zitao could taste it like blood in his mouth.

Now isn’t any different. Zitao mewls as he slowly drags out the plug, feeling it stretch his rim over the girth of the toy, sending shivers up his spine. He chokes on a moan at the widest part - closing his eyes to imagine Jongdae’s cock sliding into him instead, how it would _really_ spread him apart.

‘Do you forget about it these days?’ Jongdae murmurs into his ear. ‘Walk around the guests without thinking about what’s inside you, don’t let even sex distract you from conversation.’

He swallows and nods, finally getting the plug out. Jongdae takes it from his hand and tosses it onto the driver’s seat despite the remnants of the lube. ‘Chen, Chenchen - ’

‘Shhh,’ he croons, kissing the corner of Zitao’s open mouth. ‘I’ll fill you right back up.’ He takes the lube and urges Zitao to sit up and then lean forward, forearms braced against the front seats. ‘I just need you like this.’

‘I don’t - no prep, Chen,’ rambles Zitao, feet braced along the cold car floor. He listens to the shuffle of Jongdae behind him, settling between Zitao’s open thighs, makes a surprised sound when Jongdae reaches around Zitao, holding the tie.

‘You said I could use you,’ he says, carefully pronouncing each word, like he doesn’t want Zitao to misunderstand. ‘I want to blindfold you.’

Zitao closes his eyes and moans. ‘Anything.’

‘Fuck, Tao,’ says Jongdae breathlessly, drawing the tie around Zitao’s eyes, knotting it firmly and making sure none of Zitao’s hair catches. Zitao opens his eyes and feels his lashes brush against the silk, can peek downwards to see a slice of the gearbox and his own bent knees just at the peripheral. It’s not perfect but it’s enough, robs Zitao of any context - has to focus on the feel of the leather under his arms, the heat of Jongdae’s body behind him, how his cock twitches with anticipation.

Suddenly, Jongdae’s hands are on Zitao’s ass, spreading him wide, exposing his hole. ‘Chenchen, _please_.’

‘Even with a plug inside you, you’re still so tight,’ he muses, fingers sliding up to grip Zitao’s hips, start lowering him down. One hand disappears then the heat of Jongdae’s cock is nestling up against Zitao’s ass, the head teasing the rim.

‘In me, _please_ , Chen,’ he begs, wanting so badly to be taken already, to give Jongdae that feeling of being back in control again. He listens to the click of the lube being opened and the slick sound of Jongdae tugging at his cock, feeling his mouth go dry. ‘Know you’re still mad, so just fuck me, use me.’

‘You don’t know anything,’ Jongdae says, voice low, like a warning. His grip on Zitao’s hip tightens, pulls, and suddenly, Zitao is being stretched open over Jongdae’s cock slow and steady, the lube making it only marginally easier.

The friction still burns, still makes Zitao tense up and have to relax, but he loves it, loves the soreness of it afterwards, when Jongdae is too frayed to make sure Zitao is loose and ready before he gets fucked. He’s moaning as Jongdae pushes in, settles Zitao’s ass over his thighs so that Zitao can feel how Jongdae’s still wearing all of his clothes.

‘Fuck,’ moans Jongdae, rolling his hips up in a tight grind, and Zitao’s mouth drops open from the pressure on his prostate, making the burn drown under a wave of pleasure. ‘Even with that fucking plug inside of you all this time - feel so fucking _good_.’

Zitao gasps soundlessly, feeling Jongdae fuck into him in slow, shallow thrusts. He can’t do anything except hold onto the front seats, focus on Jongdae’s grip on his hip, the way his cock is remorselessly stretching Zitao open, not even letting Zitao pause and take a breath.

‘I should make you ride me,’ remarks Jongdae, his voice rough with arousal. He pulls Zitao’s hips down fast, cock driving up into Zitao so Zitao mewls at the sudden spike of soreness that shoots straight into his dick, spitting up precome. ‘I should make you work for it, since you’re so desperate to get fucked.’

‘Chen,’ manages Zitao, ducking his head as the humiliation blooms in his chest. ‘Chenchen, please.’ He wishes he could twist around, see Jongdae’s expression, but the blindfold takes away any possibility of reading Jongdae, of trying to figure out the right thing to say.

Jongdae’s hands are moving from Zitao’s hips to the inside of his thighs, spreading him wider. ‘Hold onto the seats, Tao. Come fuck yourself on my cock if you want it so bad.’

‘Fuck.’ Zitao squeezes his eyes shut as he feels his cheeks flush, embarrassed, before doing as told. The leather is supple, but the sweat on Zitao’s palms makes his skin stick, and he’s taking a grip before pushing back, feeling Jongdae’s cock slide fast and deep into him. ‘ _Fuck_ , fuck, _Chen_ \- ’

‘Keep going,’ he says, hands hooked over Zitao’s thighs, keeping his legs spread. ‘Unless you don’t want it all.’

‘No,’ blurts Zitao immediately, drawing his hips upwards and dropping back down, getting used to how thick Jongdae’s cock was, how it made him feel stretched open. ‘Want you, _shit_ \- _please_ \- ’

‘Please?’ Jongdae is being cruel, leaning back in his seat as Zitao bounced in his lap, blindfolded so Zitao could do nothing but focus on the feel of being fucked over and over again, his own cock dripping strings of precome between his thighs. ‘I give and give and give, and you still want more, don’t you?’ One of his hands curl, digs his nails sharply into the sensitive skin of Zitao’s inner thigh. ‘So fucking _greedy_ , aren’t you Tao?’

Zitao jerks at the sudden bite of pain but doesn’t stop, keeps pushing against the front seats so that Jongdae’s cock can slam into him harder, deeper, with each thrust. He can’t quite get a quick pace going, but it doesn’t matter when he can feel the sweet burn of Jongdae’s cock riding up along his rim every time Zitao has to lift himself up from his lap, hole clenching tight as to not let go.

‘There we go,’ drawls Jongdae as Zitao moans. ‘Now you’re getting it - how to be a good slut for once.’

‘Not - _not_ \- ’ He tries to protest, his cheeks and ears burning with humiliation, but the blindfold means Jongdae can’t see it. Suddenly, Zitao is glad he can’t see Jongdae either, doesn’t know how much worse this would feel if he had to witness the degrading sneer on Jongdae’s lips as he made Zitao fuck himself over his cock.

Still - the humiliation doesn’t make him stop, not when he knows Jongdae _needs_ this. Zitao just works harder - hips moving quicker now that he has a rhythm built up, sliding Jongdae’s cock deep into him so it pushes against his prostate with each thrust, pulling up his hips at an angle so Zitao can _feel_ how fucking _thick_ Jongdae’s cock is when it stretches his hole.

‘Aren’t you?’ Zitao groans when he feels Jongdae’s hands moving away, anticipating the next move. ‘Look at you - in Minseok-hyung’s car, stripped naked, trying to ride me so you can come,’ Jongdae says as his fingers skate along Zitao’s ass, spreading him apart so his hole is in full view, ‘ _fuck_ \- working your pretty ass on my dick so you can fucking feel my come inside of you.’ He rubs his thumb over the rim, making Zitao sob at the over-stimulation. ‘That’s right - want to feel all of my come slide out of your cute, stretched hole, don’t you? Want to be my pretty slut.’

The words have Zitao gasping, already feeling that satisfying soreness within his muscles after he’s been fucked hard and good by Jongdae, knowing that warm, slick feeling of Jongdae’s come, how it stained the inside of his thighs, but it was worth it when only _he_ could have this, only _he_ could drive Jongdae to this point, have him grinding out his orgasm in Zitao’s ass and no one else.

‘S’mine,’ he gasps out, wanting Jongdae to understand, but Jongdae only laughs.

‘The only thing that’s _yours_ ,’ he says, ‘is whatever I fucking decide to give you.’

He wants to deny it, wants to claim there’s some sort of equivalence here, that Zitao was not at the behest of whatever Jongdae wanted at that moment. It’s too hard to word, not when his mouth was open and panting, frantically trying to ride Jongdae’s cock; nevertheless, he can beg, ‘please - Chenchen, _please_ , fuck me - m’yours, yours, yours - ’

Jongdae’s mouth presses over Zitao’s back, hands sliding back to hold Zitao’s hips, a familiar touch at this point. ‘That’s right,’ he croons, ‘I give and give and give, because you’re all mine, aren’t you?’

Zitao’s thighs are burning with the effort to keep up the pace, but Zitao can’t stop now. Not when Jongdae’s cock pressed into his sweet spot hard enough to have Zitao’s dick drooling, his gut tight with the need to come, if only he had a little more, just a little more -

‘Just want you,’ Zitao sobs, ‘only want you.’

Suddenly, Jongdae is pushing Zitao even further between the seats, making space, and Zitao barely manages to adjust his grip along the leather before Jongdae is fucking into him hard and fast.

Zitao wails, nails scrabbling against the leather, feeling the the buckle of Jongdae’s belt dig into the back of his thigh, Jongdae’s shirt brushing up against his spine, reminding him what they must look like - Zitao, naked and squirming over Jongdae’s fat cock, while Jongdae slammed into him fully dressed and using him up in his desperation.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ hiccups Zitao, unable to keep up as each jerk of Jongdae’s cock into his prostate has his moaning. He’s so hard, leaking long strings of precome, and the pace has his dick slapping filthily against his own abdomen as Jongdae pounds into him.

‘Mine,’ he hears Jongdae snarl and nods, arching his back so Jongdae can fuck him that much deeper. ‘ _My_ fucking slut, _my_ pretty bitch, you fucking _belong_ to _me_ \- ’

‘Chenchen, Chenchen, Chenchen,’ babbles Zitao, the possessiveness in Jongdae’s voice taking a desperate tone, but he can barely focus when Jongdae fucks him hard enough to have his balls slapping against Zitao’s ass, a near-constant wave of pleasure flooding through Zitao’s system as Jongdae’s thick cock drags over his prostate again and again. ‘ _Chenchen_ \- !’

In reply, Jongdae’s nails dig into Zitao’s hips and he just pushes harder, reams into Zitao until Zitao can’t even _think_ anymore. It feels so fucking _good_ \- having Jongdae’s cock driving inside of him, so thick and hot and _perfect_ as it makes his hole feel so fucking sore with each fuck.

‘ _Please_ \- !’ Zitao cries out, feeling his body tremble with how badly he needs to come, trying to hold back until Jongdae can _give_ it to him.

‘Fuck, fuck,’ pants out Jongdae, his breath hot between Zitao’s shoulder blades, ‘you gonna come? Gonna come all over Minseok-hyung’s fucking car?’

‘ _Yes_ ,’ he hisses, the reminder making him feel a burst of satisfaction in his chest, that nothing Minseok could do to comfort Jongdae would ever be equivalent to _this_ \- to how Zitao can give him what he _truly_ needs, found in the heavy smell of sex that filled the car and Zitao’s come smeared all over the leather. ‘Let me - let me, _please_.’

‘Sound so good, begging to come,’ says Jongdae, pausing to grind his cock right into Zitao’s prostate, has Zitao wailing out and arching, unable to decipher if he wants more or to get away. ‘Even need me to let you come - _fuck_ \- because you’re fucking _mine_.’

Zitao doesn’t know how to reply, doesn’t get to when suddenly Jongdae is sliding out and slamming back in with that frantic pace that has Zitao unable to do anything but wail with overstimulation, trying so fucking hard not to lose it, because that’s not what Jongdae what needs, not yet, not yet -

‘ _Perfect_ ,’ says Jongdae, breathless, ‘so fucking _perfect_ ,’ and his cock drives hard into Zitao, ‘do it, Tao - come on my cock,’ pounding into him so all Zitao can do is moan brokenly, ‘because only I can give this to you,’ and Zitao is sobbing as he feels his arousal reach its peak, listening to Jongdae snarl into his ear, fierce and final, ‘so don’t you ever fucking leave me.’

He whites out. One moment, he can feel that familiar slam of Jongdae’s cock into his ass, the next moment, his own orgasm hits him, has him blowing his load with a choked out sob of _Chen_ as his cock keeps twitching, keeps spilling ropes of his come all over the leather of the seats, dripping onto the gearbox, so obvious against the black interior.

His ass is milking Jongdae’s cock, knows Jongdae loves feeling Zitao get all tight and fluttery around his dick. He can’t help but press his hips back into Jongdae, pushing Jongdae’s cock right deep into his ass so Jongdae could feel every tremble of his body as he comes.

‘Fuck, just like that, so tight,’ groans Jongdae, ‘going to come in you like this.’

Zitao shudders, wanting it, and mewls as Jongdae drives into him with half a dozen thrusts before he blows his load. One of Jongdae’s hands slide from Zitao’s hip to push hard against Zitao’s abdomen, keeping them both pressed together so Zitao could milk every last drop of Jongdae’s come, feeling that warm slickness that was like a mark of possession from the inside-out.

It takes a moment before Zitao registers reality outside of the feeling of Jongdae’s hands on him, his cock softening inside of Zitao’s hole. Jongdae presses his forehead in between Zitao’s shoulder blades, panting softly so that his breath tickles against Zitao’s sweat-slick skin. Zitao’s not doing any better - his throat dry and his limbs sore and tired.

Slowly, Zitao unsticks one of his palms off the front seat, only to place it over Jongdae’s hand still resting against his abdomen. ‘Chen.’ His voice is hoarse and fucked-out and he can’t quite form the words he wants.

There’s no reply. Instead, he feels Jongdae’s hand spread open, letting Zitao intertwine their fingers together. Zitao holds on tight.

‘Stay,’ he says.

‘Yeah.’

It takes a bit of gentle coaxing and maneuvering for them to find a comfortable way to sit. Jongdae undoes the tie first, dropping the silk onto the passenger’s seat, and slides out of Zitao, much to Zitao’s protest.

‘Turn around,’ huffs Jongdae, sitting down on the backseat and beckoning Zitao to straddle him. In one movement, Zitao settles comfortably over Jongdae’s lap, his knees tucked up against the leather, the seat supporting his calves. He reaches back first, cupping Jongdae’s soft cock in his hand, and feels Jongdae’s fingers grip his ass, spread him open. Zitao shivers at the sparks of soreness and sensitivity running all through him as he manages to slide Jongdae’s cock back inside of him, plugging his come up and keeping Zitao comfortably stretched and full.

‘I didn’t know you were into this,’ says Jongdae, hands coming back to rest comfortably over Zitao’s thighs, tracing nonsense patterns over his skin. His eyes are half-lidded, already feeling relaxed and content, and it softens his entire face - makes him look younger, sweeter.

‘Just,’ starts Zitao, tipping his head forward, burying his face in Jongdae’s hair. ‘Just stay.’

‘And the plug?’

He shakes his head. ‘Need you right now.’

Half-expecting a protest, Zitao’s surprised when Jongdae only hums. ‘Okay.’

They both drowse against each other - soft and quiet. Zitao had been ready to sit upright for the entire time, still under Jongdae’s command, but instead it is Jongdae that is sweet with him. His hands finds Zitao’s and intertwines their fingers, tipping his chin up so he can pepper Zitao’s jawline with absent, affectionate kisses.

It’s so awfully different that Zitao can’t even react, just pulled along to follow the whims of Jongdae’s gentleness. And he can’t deny it’s addicting - feeling himself fall even more hopelessly under Jongdae’s presence, can’t imagine leaving when he has all of _this_ \- wealth, ownership, and Jongdae’s vulnerability that is only for Zitao’s taking.

He savours it, nuzzling into Jongdae’s cheek, wanting every warm, soft touch he can get. Jongdae hums at the gesture, clearly approving, and wraps his arms around Zitao’s waist, tucks his face into Zitao’s neck.

That’s how they sit, with Jongdae simply holding him close, just like this. It’s a motion so _open_ and _vulnerable_ in his adoration for Zitao that Zitao feels his eyes burn, wondering when he got this invested in someone he barely knows, barely understands.

Eventually, Jongdae seems to stir, looking up at Zitao. ‘I still need to clean you up, Taozi.’

Zitao lets out a breath, chest twisting in on itself at the nickname. ‘I know, just…’

After a moment, he nods. ‘I’ll stay until you’re ready.’

‘Chenchen,’ he chokes out, feeling himself at the brink of crying _again_ , doesn’t even understand _why_ , so he kisses Jongdae to stop himself.

Jongdae meets him halfway, makes a noise when Zitao opens his mouth, invites him in. Suddenly, the low-simmering heat in his belly bubbles up, and Zitao _wants_ again. He’s moaning when Jongdae drags his teeth over Zitao’s bottom lip, his body tensing up in anticipation, and the motion has him realizing Jongdae’s cock is still inside of him.

He rocks his hips and Jongdae breaks off the kiss to groan, clearly sensitized, but he doesn’t say no. Zitao takes the silence as permission and keeps going, wanting to feel Jongdae get hard in his ass, wanting to ride him all over again.

‘Fuck, Tao,’ says Jongdae, letting his head fall back against the seat as his hands settle on top of Zitao’s thighs. ‘You’re - shit, gonna be the death of me.’

Zitao doesn’t laugh, only grinds down harder. ‘For you - wanna do this for you.’

‘You already let me take my anger out on you, Taozi,’ he says, unfairly patient, too fucking _sweet_. ‘I should be doing this for you.’

‘No.’ Zitao places his hands over Jongdae’s shoulders, takes a grip. ‘You needed me. This - I want to give this to you, Chenchen, please.’ He clenches down over Jongdae’s half-hard cock inside of him. ‘All I do is take - it’s true. So - let me.’

‘That wasn’t,’ starts Jongdae, but Zitao kisses him shut, still rolling his hips over Jongdae’s lap. It takes a minute or two worth of effort until Jongdae’s hard enough for Zitao to angle himself so that he can feel that thickness press onto his prostate. His own cock twitches, half-hard and ready for attention.

He moans out in surprise when Jongdae takes his cock in hand, stroking slowly. ‘Chenchen,’ stutters Zitao, but Jongdae doesn’t stop, jerks him in counterpoint to how Zitao is rolling his hips.

They’re both too sensitive for this so soon, but Zitao keeps at it, moving his hips in a tight grind to feel the fullness of Jongdae’s cock inside of him. Jongdae hisses, his hand breaking rhythm over Zitao’s dick, and groans, ‘can feel my come inside of you, fuck, Tao - ’

‘More,’ mewls Zitao, pushing his cock into Jongdae’s hand for him, feeling his entire body heat up at the friction, both on his cock and in his ass. ‘Please - I want more - ’

‘So fucking hot.’ Jongdae’s mouth has dropped open, moaning in time with Zitao riding down on his dick. ‘Just keep fucking me - that’s what you want, yeah?’

‘Yes.’ Balancing his knees on the leather, Zitao gets the leverage to lift himself higher, drop down fast onto Jongdae’s lap so Jongdae’s cock drives deep into him. ‘Gonna fuck you - fuck you so good - like you do for me - ’

Jongdae groans, his voice so low and wrecked, keying up Zitao that much more. He’s still sore from riding Jongdae before, from holding on as Jongdae fucked him hard, but Zitao can’t find it within himself to stop now. He pushes the soreness out of the way, focuses instead of the delicious stretch and burn of Jongdae’s thick cock moving in and out of him.

Soon enough, Zitao has built up a rhythm, bouncing in Jongdae’s lap while moaning, grinding down with each thrust so Jongdae’s cock runs hard over his sweet spot. ‘F-Feel good?’ He asks, needing to know, needing to make sure he was doing well for Jongdae.

‘ _Yes_ ,’ hisses Jongdae, eyes slitted in pleasure. ‘So fucking tight around my dick every time, shit,’ he tightens his fist over Zitao’s cock, starts jerking him off faster, moaning at how Zitao clenched around him, ‘love fucking my come back into you.’

Zitao keens, knows all the filthy wet noises aren’t just from Jongdae jerking off his cock but also how Zitao is already so full, all that come trying to make space for how Jongdae fucks into him, his cock slicked by his own spunk.

He can’t help but think about how absolutely filthy this is - wanting even _more_ of Jongdae’s come inside of him, wanting to feel it run all down the inside of his thighs, imagining a reality where he could have Jongdae’s cock so hard and thick plugging him up and keeping him full of his load - and _fuck_ , he should be rejected for it, should be humiliated for his excessive desires.

Instead, Jongdae just fucking _indulges_ him - fucks him any and every way Zitao likes, tells him in no uncertain terms just how fucking good Zitao feels when they fuck, when Zitao sucks on his cock, when Zitao begs for _more more more don’t stop please don’t stop fuck please more_  -

‘Please come, please come, Chenchen,’ he chokes out, still riding Jongdae’s cock as best he can, wanting him to feel even an iota of how Zitao feels every time Jongdae ruins him. ‘Please, please, please - ’

‘Keep going, almost there,’ promises Jongdae, his voice breathless and hoarse, his hand still working Zitao’s cock, clearly wanting him to come as well. Zitao sobs at the pleasure - his cock sensitive and twitching and so, so hard, but needing to hold back until he could just have Jongdae at the brink as well.

Frantically riding Jongdae’s dick, Zitao’s entire body feels so hot, shivers running through him, and he tries to anchor himself, digging his nails so deep into Jongdae’s shoulders as he holds on. It’s a relief when Jongdae chokes on a groan - ‘shit, gonna come, Tao - ’ - and Zitao is nodding, pleading, ‘yes yes yesyesyes - ’

Zitao fucks himself hard over Jongdae’s cock once, twice, and finds himself pinned when Jongdae’s fingers claw into his hips, keeping him seated as Jongdae empties himself inside of Zitao’s ass for the second time.

He can feel the flex of Jongdae’s hips, the way his thighs tense up as his cock spits out line after line of come, and it’s _too much_ \- the noises Jongdae is making, his thick cock, that familiar warm slickness inside of him that he craved - and Zitao is shaking as he comes too with a cry.

‘Chenchen,’ he mewls, trying for an apology as his semen smears all over Jongdae’s shirt, dripping onto his slacks, but Jongdae just unhooks his hand from Zitao’s hip and strokes Zitao’s cock, milking him for every last drop until Zitao is done.

‘You’re so good,’ says Jongdae, utterly sincere. ‘Did so well, so much, look how gorgeous you are even now.’

Zitao keeps shaking, overwhelmed, overstimulated.

‘You’re perfect,’ says Jongdae, ‘you’re so fucking perfect, Tao, my Taozi.’

It’s too much too much too much - and Zitao finally cries, burying his face in Jongdae’s neck. While listening to Jongdae murmur a stream of compliments, holding him even as he trembles, it’s then that Zitao decides he can’t be with Jongdae anymore.

-

This is what he knows:

The Kim conglomerate is one of the most wealthy banks operating in the country, with different investment branches along the financial sector and at least a dozen shell companies that Yixing had managed to dig up with impeccable tax records considering they didn’t exist.

Any reports of wrongdoing done by the bank had been buried deep, oft forgotten under a deluge of other news, and coincidentally timed with incidents of one of the brothers - usually Jongdae - doing something _just_ excessive enough to distract from whatever damage control the Kim conglomerate was doing.

Obviously the client list was classified and kept under the tightest security but there was an emphasis on security in all the Kim clan’s non-financial assets: two clubs and three restaurants. Zitao had treated Sehun to lunch at one of the restaurants, nudged him to explain how his job would have worked if he was posted here. And Sehun replied without much hesitation, describing how the guards rotated and how the cameras and view feeds were integrated along the perimeter and within the restaurant as well. It was all excessive but Sehun just shrugged. ‘That’s the way the hyungs wanted it.’

High profile banks mean high profile clients, and Zitao has rubbed elbows with celebrities and producers and politicians all before he ever came to Seoul. He’s not ignorant that some of the guests don’t fit into any particular title - don’t claim to be _anything_ really, even when Zitao presses. No one brings them up in conversation and Jongdae doesn’t seem to pay them any more attention than he does the other, more regular clients. Of course - not in public.

Zitao’s not foolish enough to actually follow Jongdae to one of his meetings. Not when he knows Minseok and Jongdae both keep eyes on him, even if Zitao doesn’t know to what extent. Mostly, they seem to rely on Sehun, and Sehun seems fairly in the dark about anything the bank does regarding their policies and client list and any scandals that had been covered up.

It’s the covering up that bothers him the most. The fact that it was so cleanly done that Zitao’s family couldn’t find half of it out before they had agreed to the merger. Zitao and Yixing had to come to Seoul to unearth alleged accusations of laundering money or funnelling funds without proper authorization or forging records of certain transactions.

At the end of the day, any fines the Kim conglomerate paid was but a fraction of the profit they ‘allegedly’ earned.

‘And what about Chen?’ Zitao asks, feeling a weight settle in his stomach. ‘Do you think…’

‘I don’t know,’ says Yixing, and the way he looks at Zitao has Zitao realizing that _oh_ , Yixing must’ve known before Zitao ever did. Must’ve known that Zitao was in over his head, trying to look away from all the unsettling clues and hints and claims lying littered plainly before him. Must’ve known he doesn’t _want_ for Jongdae to be… to be…

‘But we both know he’s involved,’ continues Yixing, voice soft even if the words sting. ‘All three of them are. They know what they’re doing and they’re going to continue - using the merger to spread their influence internationally.’

Zitao closes his eyes for a long second. ‘What do I do, Xing-ge?’

‘You at least need to know.’

‘And who do I ask? One of the brothers? Chen?’ He’s irritated now, tries to keep it reigned it for Yixing’s sake. ‘What do I even say? Do you deal with the underworld? Do you launder all their filthy blood money? Do you just - just turn a fucking blind eye as they make a profit because the Kim clan is getting a nice cut out of it?’

‘Taotao,’ starts Yixing, reaching out, but Zitao shies away from the touch. There’s still things Yixing doesn’t know, things that would make him think again about comforting Zitao. Things that Zitao has ignored, kept secret only to himself thus far, trying not to even recall them.

(This is what he knows:

In the spare bedroom, there is a duffel bag tucked neatly in the corner of the closet. In the duffel bag are two sets of clothes, a handful of toiletries, and approximately three and a half million won assorted in tightly rolled five thousand, ten thousand, fifty thousand bills.

This is what he knows:

The dresser in the main bedroom has six drawers and one of them is full of neatly folded traditional wear that Jongdae never touches. The hanboks are priceless, kept wrapped and covered to protect it. Under the layers of coloured silk are two phones, cheap-looking and small and turned off. When Zitao tries one, it turns on, and there are two phone numbers saved with no names attached to them.

This is what he knows:

In their shared closet is a safe, rather small and placed on the floor. Jongdae never mentions it, doesn’t ever open it, and only uses it as a step-stool to reach the shelf up above the clothing hangers. Zitao spends a few minutes on the keypad every now and then, almost laughs when Jongdae’s mother’s birthday is the code that makes the lock click open. Inside there is no money, no important documents, no jewels; there’s just a gun and three full cartridges.)

As much as Zitao looks away, denies it, tries to forget - he knows: Jongdae is far, far more dangerous than he lets on.

‘But it’s too late,’ he says finally. ‘I can’t escape now.’

‘You’ve always been soft,’ says Yixing, a little sad.

-

It takes a few days for Zitao to arrange the meeting discreetly. He gets Jongdae’s schedule through a bit of persuasion and whining, feeling his face stick in its false grin when Jongdae indulges him with a measure of trust that Zitao knows he doesn’t deserve.

But, he justifies in his head, it’s not trust if built on elision and lies. Jongdae kept him in the dark and liked it that way and Zitao deserved to know if he was going to continue this relationship or break it off.

Yixing is not pitying about Zitao’s feelings, just cautions him to be careful. If Zitao was going to be sneaking around Jongdae’s back to meet one of Jongdae’s own clients, he’d have to do it discreetly and make sure to not reveal his intentions to Jongdae, no matter how Jongdae made him feel.

Zitao doesn’t want to think about how Jongdae makes him feel.

Finally, the expected morning comes. Just as Zitao surmised, Jongdae has to leave early for something or another, and Zitao lies there in bed, blinking drowsily at the ceiling as he listens to Jongdae close the front door on his way out of the apartment.

He reaches over to the bedside table for his cell phone. Time to get started.

‘You don’t have to come this morning,’ says Zitao after the pleasantries are done.

Sehun pauses on the other side of the line. ‘You okay?’

‘Yeah, I’m fine.’ He turns onto his side and catches the scent of Jongdae off his pillow. ‘I’ll call you later okay, Sehunnie?’

‘Yeah. Okay.’ Sehun hesitates again. ‘If you don’t want to go out, I can come over.’

There’s a strange note in Sehun’s voice. Zitao doesn’t know what it could mean. ‘I think I’ll be up to going out in the afternoon, so you better be here then, Hun-ah.’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.’ He sounds relieved.

Zitao bids goodbye and hangs up. Onto the next.

-

Methodically, Zitao showers and dresses. He brings his phone and his wallet and throws on a light jacket for the near-autumn temperatures as summer dies off. He walks a few blocks and hails a taxi, gives him the restaurant address, and waits. The drive is silent.

The restaurant is upscale with minimal security compared to the ones under the Kim clan’s ownership. Zitao is recognized by his name and ushered inside, taken to a table near the window, where a person is already seated.

‘Am I late?’ Zitao asks once he sits down across from the other.

‘I’m early.’ The voice is soft, quiet.

‘I’m Huang Zitao.’

‘Yes, I know.’ A breath. ‘I am Do Kyungsoo.’

Zitao doesn’t know what he expected, perhaps thought he’d be a little more loud, boisterous, while arguing with Jongdae on whatever deal they were cutting. Instead, Kyungsoo is quiet, contained. He sits straight-backed in his chair, with dark eyes and short neat hair. He reminds Zitao of Jongdae in some respects - both with delicate features, a young-looking face. Where Jongdae was made up of angles, however, Kyungsoo’s face was soft, his mouth plush, even his voice low and gentle.

‘You also know my husband,’ says Zitao. ‘Kim Jongdae.’

Kyungsoo blinks his large, dark eyes, and nods. ‘Yes.’

‘He mentioned that he’s been trying to work out a deal between the bank and you, but it’s not been successful so far.’ Zitao tracks the restaurant employee out of his periphery. They place tea and cups on the table. Kyungsoo thanks them and serves the tea silently, clearly waiting. ‘I want to offer my services.’

‘Services?’ He blows the steam off his cup before looking up at Zitao. His eyes remind Zitao of Jongdae as well - dark, gaze heavy. ‘You want to deal in Jongdae’s stead?’

‘Isn’t that why your assistant Baekhyun gave me your card?’ Zitao draws out the card from his pocket and places it on the table between them, his fingers running over the raised typing of _Do Kyungsoo_. ‘Or was it to really congratulate me on my wedding?’

Kyungsoo blinks then huffs, and Zitao recognizes it as a soft breathy laugh. ‘Is that what Baekhyun said?’ He picks up the card and turns it over, but there’s no note on the back; he puts it back down. ‘I never cared about meeting you, but I knew I couldn’t turn it down if you had personally invited me.’

‘Then why?’ Zitao is nothing if not straightforward.

‘To provoke Jongdae, maybe.’ Kyungsoo looks to the side, out the window that showed the street with its noonday traffic and the blur of pedestrians. ‘I don’t like that my money is being funnelled overseas. I want a bigger cut.’

Zitao blinks. ‘A higher interest rate?’

‘Sure.’ Kyungsoo’s attention isn’t on Zitao at all as he talks. ‘As for the money that’s being washed clean - the cut should be dropped from ten percent to five. Jongdae disagrees, of course, because he’s a greedy piece of shit. I’ve thought about it and I’m willing to offer transport services overseas should he eliminate the cut altogether. That way I too get a cut of the Chinese money that comes through.’

Apparently Kyungsoo was straightforward too. Zitao’s tongue feel heavy on his tongue, stomach twisting in on itself, as the words register and begin to echo like an omen in his head. He has to say something, has to deflect his surprised silence so that Kyungsoo won’t know he’s been caught off-guard, but Zitao can’t find anything to say, only a yawning pit in his gut - _confirmation_.

Kyungsoo finally looks away from the window back to Zitao, watching him. His gaze is steady, evaluating. Zitao sucks in a breath.

‘And Jongdae didn’t agree to your terms?’

‘He didn’t.’ He’s taking a sip of his tea now, but his eyes don’t leave Zitao’s face. ‘Did he not tell you the details of our discussions?’

Zitao swallows. ‘Jongdae was full of more swear words than explanation about it.’

Kyungsoo’s mouth quirks up at the corners. ‘And you don’t hold a grudge against me for that, Zitao?’

‘He’s… temperamental,’ says Zitao. ‘There’s no reason why I couldn’t do better.’

‘Are you sure?’ Something like a glint finally appears in his large dark eyes. ‘You’re coming to this dealing very uninformed.’

He shrugs, bluffs. ‘I’ve only been involved for a month or two, so there is still a lot I have to learn. If you don’t want to work with me, just say so.’

Kyungsoo leans back in his seat. ‘Only a month or two? You didn’t do this overseas?’

‘Dealings are done much differently in China. For one, the language.’

‘I heard Jongdae and Minseok were bilingual,’ he muses. ‘I guess it wasn’t a lie.’

‘So?’

The silence goes on too long as Kyungsoo takes a swallow of his tea. Zitao’s cup is still untouched. ‘Baekhyun told me it was very hard to approach you. In fact, it was near impossible.’

Zitao is silent, doesn’t want to give himself away with talking too much.

Then again, Kyungsoo seemed to have figured him out. ‘Jongdae deliberately only brings you around to the events that do not involve me. He is very picky with the guestlist and organizes the security through Minseok. Baekhyun had to surprise Jongdae to get close to you, and then was immediately escorted outside.’ Kyungsoo purses his mouth. ‘They gave him a black eye. I guess I should be thankful it wasn’t Jongdae who took him out back. I might have never gotten Baekhyun back.’

Escape is the only solution. They haven’t ordered any food. Zitao can throw down a few thousand won and walk out right now.

‘I think Jongdae is trying very, very hard to keep you in the dark, isn’t he?’ Kyungsoo is watching him. ‘I think you have no idea what he does.’

Zitao clenches his jaw as he smiles, reaching over to take the business card. ‘I need to go.’

Suddenly, Kyungsoo’s arm shoots across the table, grabbing Zitao’s wrist in a tight grip. ‘Sit down.’

Swallowing, he nods, stays seated.

Still, Kyungsoo doesn’t let go. He’s leaning forward, chest pressed against the edge of the table, something like a smile appearing at the corners of his mouth. ‘Your _husband_ is the negotiator between the bank and the underworld.’ Zitao’s face must do something because Kyungsoo is sneering now, seemingly enjoying this. ‘He also does the dirty work when someone doesn’t pay up or deliver as promised.’

Zitao stares back at Kyungsoo, suddenly thinking about how Kyungsoo’s gaze is not nearly as intense as Jongdae’s, that he doesn’t feel the weight of it on his chest that appears when Jongdae is watching him. ‘You’re saying he kills people.’

‘Yes.’ Kyungsoo releases his grip, sits back down in his seat. ‘I’m surprised he even let you come here.’

There’s no need to tell Kyungsoo more than he needs. ‘Why hasn’t he been caught?’

‘Caught?’ He sneers. ‘And bring down the holy wrath of Kim Junmyeon and his army of lawyers?’

‘So they all know.’ Zitao stares at the business card still sitting in the middle of the table. ‘They all know and support him. Except for me, his own husband.’

Kyungsoo scoffs, finishes his cup of tea. ‘If you can’t deal with me, you’re wasting my time.’

He picks up the business card, letting his thumb run over the raised typing. ‘Tell me - do you know if he deals with the Chinese underworld?’

Rolling his eyes, Kyungsoo nods at Zitao. ‘Why do you think he married you? So he could access that market and use _my_ money for it. Either I get the Chinese mob cut or my money is cleaned for free. So get out and tell your husband not to call me until he picks one.’

‘You’re a mob boss yourself.’ Standing up, Zitao pockets the card and pulls out his wallet. ‘Not going to shoot me for being a pain?’ He tosses a few thousand won bills on the table.

‘Shoot you and bring down Jongdae here? I’m not stupid.’ Kyungsoo looks out the window again. ‘It’s too bad you’re not in this line of work - you might even be good at it.’

‘Thank you for your time,’ replies Zitao, bowing his head, and walks out.

-

He takes a taxi to a park by the river and walks along the paths for hours.

The lack of surprise makes Zitao wonder if he’s always known - somewhere deep in his gut. Had already placed all the puzzle pieces together but pushed it away because he didn’t want to be involved, didn’t want to recognize where he fit into this entire mess.

As badly as Yixing wants to make sure Zitao is uninvolved, not implicated in anything, Zitao knows the moment the marriage certificate had been signed that he was already part of it all. Perhaps not the operation, but at least half of Jongdae’s wealth is blood money, which meant almost all that Zitao owned came out of laundered money from the South Korean underworld.

And now, Jongdae was breaching the Chinese underworld, all because Zitao let him. Because Zitao didn’t know any better. Using Zitao and his family’s connections and influences to expand his own bloody business and earn even more money.

Yet - Yet - Zitao still can’t summon that surprise that he should be feeling. Even as Kyungsoo talked to him, it didn’t feel like new information. It didn’t change a thing, except checkmark what Zitao already knew. Always knew.

He tries to pinpoint it - the revelation as to when it became clear. When he knew that something about Jongdae was corrupt and unredeemable. It might have been on the first day together, Zitao vulnerable and trembling and _humiliated_ that he had shown his greediness to Jongdae so _easily_ , and Jongdae simply asked for more. Or maybe when Zitao had objected to belonging to Jongdae under the guise of marriage, only for Jongdae to tell him that Zitao could have him too.

Zitao wants to laugh - bitter and deprecating. Maybe it had been when Zitao had gotten on his knees and begged with his mouth over Jongdae’s cock, begged for Jongdae to _need_ him, to indulge Zitao’s desire to be owned.

Maybe it was when Zitao let out all the things he kept hidden in himself. His overwhelming possessiveness, his frantic clawing neediness, his never-sated greediness, his skill of manipulation, his startling capacity for jealousy - all these traits that Zitao tries so hard to keep from being exposed but can’t help but reveal when Jongdae is around him.

Jongdae, who shouldn’t simply blink and accept it all, who shouldn’t react with patience and appreciation and even _desire_ to want to see Zitao at his lowest. Worst of all, Zitao can’t even regret being so helplessly vulnerable, for once feels like he’s been understood, can breathe with a sense of satisfaction that no other relationship gives him.

Having Kyungsoo sit across from him, tell him that everything unacceptable that makes up Zitao is within Jongdae as well - with an added penchant for sadism and violence - is the least surprising.

Of course Jongdae would want Zitao, of course Zitao would want him right back; as much as Zitao could spend time denying it, he knew they were both the same.

-

The taxi drops Zitao off a block and a half from his apartment building. He walks briskly to the highrise, detours to get into the parking garage, and notes that Jongdae’s car still isn’t here. Good. Taking out his phone, Zitao saves Kyungsoo’s number as an alternate under Yixing’s name, then calls Sehun.

‘Let’s go out for a little while,’ he says cheerily.

-

While the alibi isn’t solid, Zitao knows that Sehun reports to Minseok, who reports to Jongdae. He could be out for as long as he wanted, avoid Jongdae until Zitao can guess he’s in bed, and as long as he was with Sehun, Jongdae wouldn’t care. He wonders if it’s the possessiveness.

And should anyone question if he was out and about today, he can at least pretend it was entirely with Sehun, play dumb when it came to meeting Kyungsoo. When Baekhyun had answered Zitao’s phonecall - done quickly at a payphone while Sehun had been busy in a store getting food for them both - he had assured Zitao that the location had a measure of anonymity.

Still, Zitao imagined it was inevitable that Jongdae would find out. Maybe the next time Jongdae met up with Kyungsoo to rework their deal, and Kyungsoo could hold over him the fact that his own _husband_ had contacted Kyungsoo, that Kyungsoo had Zitao at his most vulnerable and could easily do it again. A perfect way to threaten Jongdae.

Perhaps even Baekhyun could let it slip casually. Mention it while him and Jongdae are at a party and Zitao is not - flaunt the meeting in mid-conversation so Jongdae couldn’t immediately… react. Zitao didn’t want to imagine how Jongdae would treat Baekhyun without anyone watching.

_He’s killed people_. Of course he has, Zitao wants to say; Jongdae probably enjoyed it too. It makes his stomach twist, but the revulsion never reaches to the back of Zitao’s throat for him to taste.

Sehun is sweet with him when they do go out. Sweet in his own way - teasing Zitao, prodding at him to stop sulking, start talking, or else get the hell out. Zitao asks him, offhand, ‘is Chen a bad person, Sehunnie?’ and watches as Sehun scrunches his brow, shakes his head. ‘Sometimes he’s mean, but - he likes taking care of people. In his own way.’

So it only _was_ Minseok and Junmyeon who knew about what Jongdae did - everyone else kept in the dark, even Sehun, who had to keep Zitao under watch for Jongdae. Make sure Zitao was never exposed to the bloody side of their business. The ignorance is reassuring - has Zitao flush up in appreciation for Sehun, who is sincere, honest, worries for Zitao in his own faithful way. That even with everything that seems to be happening behind the scenes, at least Zitao will always have Sehun.

‘I love you, Hun-ah,’ sing-songs Zitao, just to keep it lighthearted, and watches Sehun blush, stutter, almost drop the drink he’s holding in his hand.

‘Shut up - !’ He elbows Zitao in the side. ‘ _Tao_!’

Zitao laughs, feeling the weight on his chest ease a little. He could at least savour this moment before the inevitable came: before Jongdae found out.

-

It’s evening when Sehun pulls into the underground parking, rolling up slowly next to Jongdae’s parked car. ‘Hyung’s home.’

‘Yeah,’ says Zitao, feeling himself tense up. Sehun looks over at him.

‘You okay?’

He nods and feels for the business card in his pocket. ‘I’m good. Thought I forgot something.’

‘Hey,’ and Sehun’s voice is soft, expression concerned. ‘You’ve been off all day, so just - get some rest, yeah?’

Zitao looks at him, feels the sudden urge to cry, but blinks it back. ‘I will. See you tomorrow.’

He’s getting out of the car when Sehun calls out, ‘let hyung make you feel better,’ and Zitao laughs too loud all the way to the elevator.

-

Zitao stands in the hallway and breathes. After a moment, he opens the door.

The first thing he notices is the light. The curtains along the living room window have been drawn back, letting the dying rays of sunset reflect off the windows of the other high-rises and slide in orange-purple dyed squares onto the floor. The apartment is silent and still so that Zitao taking off his shoes and hanging his jacket all sound too loud in the gloom.

When he does walk past the entrance into the main space, between the living room and the dining table, he’s surprised that it’s empty. Zitao imagined Jongdae sitting at the dining table, gun in hand, ready to confront him, and yet there was nothing.

He stood amidst the growing darkness and looked out the window where it led to the balcony. The sun was almost gone.

‘You’re back.’

Jongdae’s voice startles him. Zitao looks over to the entrance of the hallway, sees Jongdae standing there, dressed down to just a dress shirt and slacks. The sleeves are rolled up along his forearms, and top two buttons at his collar are undone. He isn’t smiling.

Zitao feels strangely underdressed in jeans and a shirt. He hadn’t put any flair to his outfit, for the sake of not drawing attention to himself when he met Kyungsoo. He wonders if Jongdae notices. ‘I’m home. How was your day?’

The air is stagnant between them. It’s weighed down by Jongdae - his presence filling up the entire room, encompassing it so that everything is focused towards him, even Zitao. So this is what he was like when angry. It was unlike what Zitao was used to seeing; Jongdae didn’t lash out like he usually did - full of snarls and mean jabs, ready to snap at any moment.

No - this Jongdae, the _real_ Jongdae, when angry, was still and silent, utterly cold and detached. ‘Did you know I was going to find out?’

‘Eventually.’ The light has disappeared, replaced by the sprinkling of streetlights and the lit-up windows of neighboring high-rises. An entire world that kept moving outside of their frozen bubble. ‘Maybe today, maybe tomorrow. For sure by next week.’

‘And then?’

_And then?_ Zitao has no idea. Never thought that far. What were his alternatives other than to go home, back to Jongdae, back here because this was where Zitao lived. This was familiar, dangerously close to something resembling _home_. ‘I just wanted to know.’

Jongdae looks back at him. Kyungsoo’s eyes had been so gentle in comparison - nothing compared to the weight and intensity that Jongdae exudes from just his gaze. It feels like Zitao’s been pinned in place, his feet rooted to the floor, his arms locked in at his sides, unable to look away from Jongdae. So this was Jongdae, he thinks again. _This_ was Jongdae.

‘You never tell me anything,’ he says, tracking how the growing shadows swallow up Jongdae’s silhouette, fold him up in its arms. ‘Nothing about where you go or who you meet. Nothing about why you came home in the middle of night, nothing about why you need me safe all the time.’ The words trail off.

‘And you never guessed it was for your own good?’ Jongdae steps towards the table and draws out a chair. ‘You couldn’t be satisfied with all that I gave you?’

‘I needed to know,’ says Zitao.

Jongdae gestures to the chair. ‘Sit down, Zitao.’

Movements mechanical, Zitao walks over and seats himself, feeling a shiver run down his spine knowing Jongdae stood behind him, completely out of sight.

‘Now,’ and his voice is low, breathy, so so so close to Zitao’s ear that Zitao has to will himself not to turn around, try to face the threat head-on. ‘You wanted to know what I do?’ When Zitao stays frozen, Jongdae clicks his tongue. ‘It’s polite to answer when questioned, Zitao.’

Zitao swallows, staring straight ahead where the front door lies. ‘Yes.’

He hears Jongdae step away and wonders, for a singular moment, if Jongdae will simply just shoot him. It’s the most obvious solution - and Kyungsoo had said that Jongdae had no problem getting rid of people that got in his way. There’s a flicker of surprise when all Jongdae does instead is turn on the lights, casting a soft glow through the room, and before coming around to stand at the other side of the table, hiding the front door from view. Of course.

‘I work as client consultant for the bank,’ says Jongdae, tone shifting suddenly so he sounds completely casual. ‘I specialize in bringing in high-profile clients and following up to make sure their needs are being met by our banking practices.’

It’s so rehearsed it almost sounds natural.

‘Now it seems you have a problem, don’t you?

‘I’m not one of your clients,’ says Zitao quietly.

‘Well you can either be my client or my dead husband with his brains on the wall,’ says Jongdae, smiling brightly.

He matches Jongdae’s gaze, doesn’t want to be intimidated.

‘First, place all weapons on the table.’ One of Jongdae’s hands retreat to the small of his back and comes back into view holding a gun - the metal black and shiny. He places it on the table with a soft thud. ‘So we’re on an even playing field.’

Zitao’s hand slides into his pocket then draws out the business card, placing it next to the gun. ‘Baekhyun gave it to me that night.’

Jongdae’s false cheer drops immediately as he looks at the card, jaw clenched. He draws out the chair with a loud scrape and seats himself, snapping his gaze back up at Zitao. ‘You lied to me back then.’

‘I needed to _know_ ,’ repeats Zitao, stubborn. ‘To know if you had tricked my family into this entire merger, to know if you took my fucking _inheritance_ away from me to work for the damn _mob_.’

‘The merger is done,’ says Jongdae. ‘It’s too late.’ He sneers. ‘I don’t even need you around anymore.’

‘Then _shoot me_ ,’ says Zitao, his temper sparking. ‘Kill me. That’s what you do, isn’t it? Get rid of people who cause you problems.’

‘Is that what Kyungsoo told you?’ Leaning back in his seat, Jongdae picks up the gun, clicking the safety off and pointing it lazily at Zitao’s head. ‘That I shoot anyone who pisses me off?’

The shine of the barrel has Zitao swallowing, but he can’t stop now. ‘Well - is he _wrong_?’

Jongdae’s lips pull back in a disbelieving grin when Zitao refuses to cow away from the gun. ‘Hardly. At the start, a few people got in the way before everyone learned to behave.’ He tips his hand to the side, the barrel aimed over Zitao’s shoulder now. ‘Can you guess how many, Tao?’

He wouldn’t ask if there wasn’t an answer, and Zitao barely has to think about it. It’s that same instinct within him - the one that wasn’t surprised when Kyungsoo spoke, the one that hardly stirred at the idea of Jongdae being dangerous - and it knows now the answer to the question.

‘Zhu Que,’ murmurs Zitao, remembering how his fingers had traced over the colours, tried to memorize the tattoo by both sight and touch. ‘Those four feathers.’

‘I told you I might have to get one for you one day,’ says Jongdae softly.

‘Then - just do it,’ he says, all of him tense, ready, _hating_ that Jongdae is going to drag this out as if it was some makeshift court trial before his execution. ‘What do you _want_ , Chen.’

Jongdae seems lost in thought, his lashes cast low, mouth softening up, chin tucked into himself. ‘I want… I want to know why.’ He looks up, eyes dark and bottomless. ‘Why did you betray me, Zitao?’

The question weighs heavy with all that’s been unsaid, all that neither of them have even tried to say to one another. Zitao could suffocate on everything he’s tried so hard to ignore, to bury under his wariness and curiousity; he can’t say it _now_ , yet Jongdae is asking it from him anyway, and Zitao is so _helpless_ to deny him.

‘I didn’t want to.’ His hands curl up in his lap, nails pressing into the flesh of his palms. ‘You know I didn’t want to.’

The silence is more deafening than anything Jongdae could have said. Zitao feels his eyes burn as he stares down at the table. ‘I - Chen - you _made_ me. I didn’t want to but you - you forced me.’

‘I gave you _everything_ ,’ says Jongdae softly. ‘You could have anything you want. All those parties where you could talk to whoever you want. And when you got tired of this city, I would have taken you anywhere you wanted.’

‘You - ’ Zitao starts, throat closing up from too much feeling twisting up in his chest. ‘Chen - you didn’t. You didn’t give me everything.’ Not what Zitao truly wanted, not what he desperately craved, as much as he denied it.

‘Didn’t I?’ And his voice is still so devastatingly soft, so _gentle_ , that Zitao could cry from it. ‘And you went behind my back anyway.’

‘Chen.’ There’s the warm slickness of tears streaking down his cheeks but Zitao ignores it, straightens up in his chair to face Jongdae, meeting that gaze that was too black, too heavy, threatening to drown Zitao should he look for too long. ‘I don’t want to leave.’

Jongdae scoffs. ‘You want to _stay_? Here? With me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Even after Kyungsoo told you all that I am?’

‘Chen…’

Suddenly, Jongdae is standing up, brows pulled together and mouth pressed into a flat line. ‘You don’t seem to understand what I do, Tao.’

Zitao refuses to be intimidated. ‘You deal with the underworld to launder their blood money and - on occasion - kill people.’

‘Say that again,’ says Jongdae, sardonic laughter threading his voice. ‘And you don’t want to leave?’ He’s aiming the gun at Zitao’s head again, the safety still off. ‘You’re going to stay with the husband who’ll blow out your skull at any point.’

He takes in a shuddering breath. ‘Yes.’

‘Stand up.’

Slowly, Zitao obeys, eyes on the barrel of the gun, at how Jongdae’s small hand wraps entirely around the grip, comfortable and familiar.

‘Turn around, hands behind your back.’

‘Chen…’ exhales Zitao even as he does as told. The edge of the table digs into his palms but he holds on, grounding himself. He listens to Jongdae’s steps - walking around so he can stand in front of Zitao. Jongdae is careful to push Zitao’s chair to the side, giving him space to stand, and presses the tip of his gun into the middle of Zitao’s chest. ‘ _Chen_.’

Jongdae flicks his eyes up at Zitao. ‘This is who I am.’ He drags the muzzle upwards, dragging along Zitao’s shirt until the cold metal touches the bare skin of his neck, making him tense up in surprise. ‘This is what I do.’

‘Threaten people?’ Zitao asks, tracking the gun from his periphery.

‘I’m giving you a chance, Zitao, so don’t play dumb,’ says Jongdae. The gun slides along the side of his throat so that Jongdae’s hand around the grip comes close, slides softly over Zitao’s skin. ‘You can leave right now and I won’t kill you. The merger is done and it’d be too messy to scrape your pretty face off the floor.’

Zitao sucks in a breath as Jongdae drags the muzzle across his adam’s apple, settling it at the hollow of his throat.

‘But if you want me to believe you - that you didn’t want to betray me, that you do want to stay, then you’ll have to understand who I am.’

‘You’re dangerous,’ he breathes out.

Jongdae laughs. ‘That’s one word.’ The metal has warmed up a little against Zitao’s skin, but the pressure doesn’t ease off. ‘If you stay, you can’t leave. Or I’ll kill you.’

‘And if someone takes me away?’

‘Them too.’ Jongdae seems contemplative. ‘Anyone that was involved or got in my way. I’d rip them to pieces before I got to you, and then I’d rip you apart too.’

‘And if I leave right now?’

The gun eases off; has Zitao breathing easy again. ‘As long as I don’t ever see you again, I won’t… hurt you or whoever you’re with.’

Zitao shakes his head. ‘I can’t leave.’ Not after all of this. ‘I want to stay, Chen, please.’

But Jongdae steps away, flicking the safety back on the gun. He’s looking over Zitao’s shoulder, past him entirely, with an indecipherable expression on his face. ‘Get out.’

The order rings out clear and final, inciting a wave of panic that makes Zitao’s stomach drop. He keeps staring at Jongdae, frozen and still holding onto the table behind him. There’s no way he can be serious, and yet Jongdae is staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to start moving.

Being given allowance to leave - even after all those conversations where Jongdae reveled in _owning_ Zitao, imprinting it into Zitao’s skin with scratches and bites and bruises, repeating it into Zitao’s ear until Zitao’s mind went blank - and Zitao only wants to stay even _more_. He had promised to stay, had given himself up, had _wanted_ to do so, so why couldn’t Jongdae just - just -

‘Chen,’ he says, voice cracking pitifully. ‘Chen, no.’ He’s going to cry again, can feel the urge building up in his throat. ‘No, please, don’t, I’ll do anything.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ he says flatly, not giving an inch. ‘I know you, Tao. You wouldn’t stay if you understood the situation.’

Except that he _does_. Zitao blinks hard to keep the tears back before he’s shaking his head. ‘I’ll do anything to prove it to you.’

Jongdae doesn’t seem impressed. He raises his eyebrows, ‘will you?’ before he’s pressing his gun back under Zitao’s chin, stepping close and sneering, ‘don’t you know I could blow your fucking brains out?’

Zitao stands stock-still, only able to see Jongdae from his periphery as the gun presses hard under his chin, keeping his head tipped upwards. ‘I don’t care.’

The gun just seems to press deeper into his skin, threatening to leave an imprint of the muzzle. ‘Take off your clothes. If you say a word, I’ll shoot your knees.’

Jongdae takes one step back, the gun aimed low at Zitao’s legs, and Zitao gets to work - stripping himself quickly, piling the clothes on the seat of the chair that’s been pushed aside. Once he’s bare, a shiver rides down his spine, but he keeps his hands behind his back, gripping the edge of the table just for the feeling, an anchor so he won’t be overwhelmed by Jongdae entirely.

‘Good.’ The tone is still cold, still cruel. Zitao thinks of the night back in the car - how Jongdae had pushed him with humiliation, but Zitao had known it wasn’t for him, not when Jongdae had held him, desperate and undone, wanting to keep him there. This time feels different - and Zitao feels his belly tighten with anxiety, doesn’t know how he’ll react if Jongdae will humiliate him now, because now he could make Zitao leave.

Worse than the thoughts is the fact that he tenses up and Jongdae sees it, just like he sees every detail emanating from Zitao’s body language, why it makes him so _good_ for Zitao. Yet, there’s no reaction. Only a cold flat gaze and the gleam of a gun.

‘I should make you crawl.’ Jongdae looks over at the living room, glances back at the hallway that leads to the bedroom. Striding towards the couch, he sits down, kicking one leg up on the coffee table across from him. With his mouth turned up in a sneer, Jongdae points the gun at Zitao, gestures with it to the space between his thighs. ‘Come here and kneel.’

Zitao goes. There’s a sense of deja-vu; with his thighs settled flat against the floor, he kneels as he’s done before, familiar with the position, knowing the perfect height for him to suck on Jongdae’s cock and let Jongdae fuck his throat.

This time there’s no cock. Jongdae presses the muzzle of the gun against Zitao’s bottom lip, watching him. ‘Show me you enjoy this, or else.’

Taking a shuddering breath, Zitao opens his mouth, tongue darting out to flick against the underside of the barrel. The metal is cold and tasteless.

‘Do I scare you, Zitao?’ Jongdae asks, his expression still that degrading sneer that has humiliation tightening up in Zitao’s chest.

Zitao exhales loudly. ‘Yes.’

Jongdae’s grin widens and he pushes the gun against Zitao’s mouth.

He has no choice. The width of the barrel isn’t exactly a problem to fit between his lips when he he’s had practice sucking Jongdae’s thick cock. It’s the coldness, the unyielding metal, feeling the corner of the muzzle bump up against his palate that has Zitao gag.

Pulling off, Zitao drags his tongue down the length of the barrel until his mouth hits the trigger guard. He licks his way back to the muzzle, trying to ignore the coldness, the wetness, focusing on Jongdae’s expression instead.

Jongdae barely blinks as he watches, eyes dark and heavy, following Zitao’s kitten-licks along the top of the barrel, flicking the tip of his tongue against the pointed protrusion of the hammer. Saliva slicks Zitao’s bottom lip, lets him drag his mouth smoothly to the side so the barrel caresses his cheek, smearing it with his own spit.

‘I thought I told you to show me you enjoy this,’ he says, voice low. The cruel grin from before has softened up but it's still evident that he’s enjoying the situation - getting off on _threatening_ Zitao, _forcing_ Zitao.

Despite everything - the terror of being left alone by Jongdae, the conflicted nausea of Jongdae being far worse than simply a criminal, the humiliation spreading through him as Jongdae uses him - Zitao _still_ manages to feel a string of desire begin to coil in the pit of his stomach.

Even now, Jongdae was getting off to Zitao. Even now, no one else but Zitao would ever be enough.

So he moans softly as he mouths over the muzzle, giving it an indulgent, wet suck, before opening wide and letting the barrel slide inside and push down on his tongue.

‘ _Yes_ ,’ hisses Jongdae, watching as Zitao drops his gaze to focus on the gun and tries to deepthroat it.

It’s impossible - metal couldn’t bend to fit the curve and shape of Zitao’s mouth and throat - and Zitao lets out a whine, hollowing his cheeks to suck at the barrel he _could_ swallow down. It’s almost like a cock, like Jongdae’s thick piece - with the way the corners of Zitao’s lips stretch, his jaw aching as he keeps taking it - and the thought only has him feel hotter.

Zitao pushes forward suddenly, feeling the uncomfortable scrape of the edge of the barrel against the roof of his mouth, but the gun is too solid and he gags, pulling off and letting the sudden burst of saliva escape his panting mouth and run down his chin.

‘Want my gun down your throat?’ Jongdae asks, flicking his gaze between Zitao’s debauched face and the spit all over the barrel of the gun. ‘Want to suck on it like my cock, Zitao?’

His moan is helplessly genuine. ‘Yes, Chenchen, please.’

‘Please what?’ Again, that cruelty. It stings, but Zitao’s arousal washes over it, especially when he sees that he’s not the only one affected. Across from him, Jongdae is only focused on Zitao - clear from how he’s leaning forward, his hold on the gun perfectly steady, his smirk verging on predatory.

Being the centre of Jongdae’s attention only has Zitao that much more ready to beg.

‘I want the gun in my mouth,’ he says, voice hoarse. ‘Chenchen.’

‘ _Fuck_ ,’ snarls Jongdae, grabbing Zitao’s chin and kissing him hard.

Zitao keens, his hands shooting up from his lap to claw at Jongdae’s shoulders, try to get him closer as Jongdae licks into his mouth. Their teeth click, but the burst of pain only has Zitao get hotter, adrenaline that’s been humming under his skin suddenly coming into focus.

With the adrenaline is also the realization that Zitao is painfully hard, goes more than willingly when Jongdae drags him up from the floor and into his lap on the couch. He grinds desperately against Jongdae’s stomach, feeling that much sluttier and needy as his bare skin drags along Jongdae’s fully-clothed self.

They’re both panting into each other’s mouth when Jongdae presses the gun just under Zitao’s ribs, angled upwards so the muzzle aims straight to his heart. ‘I’m going to fuck you dry and you’re going to beg for it.’

Zitao freezes but there’s no doubt that Jongdae is completely serious. This wasn’t a choice; it was an order.

‘Or is that all you can take?’ The pressure of the gun on his skin eases up; Jongdae is watching him without blinking. ‘Then leave.’

His stomach drops. ‘You’re forcing me.’

‘Am I?’

Suddenly, underneath the terror, arousal, confusion, desperation all twisted up in Zitao’s chest, there’s a moment of clarity. Here, now, this - this is where Jongdae’s cruelty led; either Zitao could stay and hurt, cry, bleed for him, or he could leave and never see Jongdae again, vanishing out of sight.

‘You’re going to ask me to let you hurt me.’

Looking up at Zitao, Jongdae grins wide, shows his teeth. ‘This is who I am, Zitao.’

‘I - ’ _I hate you_ gets stuck in his throat, unable to come out. His heartbeat thunders in his ears, drowning out his thoughts so he can only hear the echo of Jongdae’s words. _This is who I am_. This is who he is. All of him.

‘Beg me for it.’

Zitao stares down at him, knowing he wouldn’t receive a single ounce of pity from Jongdae. ‘Fuck me.’

‘You can do better than that, Zitao.’ The muzzle drags upwards, resting just below Zitao’s sternum. Jongdae’s thumb moves from the grip to the hammer, doesn’t cock it just yet.

‘Fuck me, please, Chen.’

He pulls back the hammer. ‘Zitao.’

The muzzle digs into his skin for a moment, but Zitao doesn’t feel a jolt of fear. He understands now. Inhaling deep, Zitao focuses on the arousal still simmering at the base of his spine, feels it spread upwards as he watches Jongdae, realizing that Jongdae would never, ever do this for anyone else. This is a test, trying to push his limits, cross each line that Jongdae had tried so hard to keep between them - and it was all solely meant for Zitao.

No one else. No one else.

‘Please, Chenchen,’ he says softly, hands settling over Jongdae’s shoulders. ‘Please fuck me, need you, need you so bad - ’ With a gasp, he grinds down in Jongdae’s lap, his cock hardening. ‘Need you _now_.’

‘There you go,’ says Jongdae. ‘Go ahead.’

His hands skitter down Jongdae’s chest and pull at the waistband of his pants, and Jongdae lifts his hips so Zitao can slide them down. Jongdae’s cock is only half-hard so Zitao immediately spits into his palm, grasping the length and working him in quick tugs. Jongdae hisses, head tipping back, and Zitao can’t help but think no one should be so attractive.

It doesn’t take more than a minute for Jongdae to be fully hard, his cock hot and thick between Zitao’s fingers. Zitao takes a breath as he shifts forward, angling Jongdae’s cock so that the head slides along his perineum, against his asshole.

‘I thought you needed me _now_ ,’ says Jongdae, lashes cast low over his dark eyes. A challenge.

Zitao clenches his jaw and slowly begins to press the cock inside. The pain will be inevitable, but -

‘Ah - ! Shit, shit, shit,’ blurts Zitao, eyes clenching shut even as he feels his ass forcibly opened up around just the crown. ‘Chen - Chenchen.’

‘That’s right - easy now.’

He opens his eyes when he feels the pressure of the gun ease off entirely from his sternum. Jongdae is looking at the gun in his hand before he spins it, hand grasping the barrel, the grip empty and facing Zitao.

‘Haven’t taken me all the way yet,’ Jongdae says as Zitao chokes on a noise as he keeps pushing Jongdae’s cock inside of him.

Zitao wants to speak but the pain is short-circuiting his brain - he’s always been stretched, lubed, prepared when Jongdae fucks him with his thick cock, and _still_ there’s always been that delicious burn of being stretched too much that would drive his arousal even higher.

But to take Jongdae’s cock dry is another thing entirely; Zitao is choking on the pain, his body refusing to relax as he keeps going. He can only grit his teeth against the hurt, wonder how it feels for Jongdae’s cock to be swallowed up bit by bit by the hottest, tightest heat - and remember, remember, this is what it means to stay by Jongdae -

‘It _hurts_ ,’ says Zitao, his voice cracking. His nails are digging into Jongdae’s shoulders for balance as he keeps trying to work his ass back over Jongdae’s cock. ‘Fuck, fuck, it hurts, Chenchen - it hurts so much - ’

‘Didn’t you beg me for this?’ Jongdae replies, no remorse in his voice.

‘Fuck - _fuck_ \- ’ He sobs, staring at the gun in front of him.

‘Thought you _needed_ me,’ continues Jongdae, so so so cruel, but the gun is _right there_ , the muzzle pointed at Jongdae’s chest, the grip free for Zitao’s fingers, the hammer already cocked and safety off, the trigger that would give in _so easily_ under Zitao’s finger should he want to pull -

‘Chen - Chen - Chen - Chen - ’

‘Don’t you _want_ me, Zitao?’

Zitao unlatches a hand from Jongdae’s shoulder and wraps his fingers around the grip of the gun. When he looks at Jongdae, there is no sneer or malice in Jongdae’s expression - just an overwhelming intensity as he took in every detail of Zitao, threatening to swallow him whole.

‘Well,’ says Jongdae softly, letting go of the barrel of the gun, letting Zitao feel the full weight of it in his hand. It’s lighter than Zitao expected, and the grip is comfortable. The heaviness comes from the anticipation, weighing on Zitao’s chest, daring him to pull the trigger, to end the pain he’s putting himself through to prove himself to Jongdae, to endure his cruelty and ruthlessness.

‘Fuck you, Chen, fuck you, just - fuck you,’ says Zitao, feeling his eyes burn, and flicks the safety back on with his thumb before throwing the gun aside. ‘ _Fuck you_.’

He hears the dull thud of the gun landing on the floor but doesn’t bother to look - instead, meeting Jongdae halfway when Jongdae rises up to kiss him, hands cupping Zitao’s hips, bringing him down over his cock entirely. Zitao muffles his hurt cry against Jongdae’s mouth, panting hard, even as he claws at Jongdae’s shoulders, wanting him closer.

They fuck. As much as it fucking _hurts_ , Zitao refuses to stop, pressing his pained noises into Jongdae’s open mouth as he holds onto him, arms looping around Jongdae’s shoulders now to tangle his fingers into Jongdae’s thick, dark hair, hold on as he rolls his hips down.

‘Zitao, Tao, Tao, Tao,’ repeats Jongdae as Zitao tries to breathe through the pain. His voice is low and rough, vibrating down Zitao’s spine, ‘Tao, Tao, Tao,’ and Zitao can’t help but sob at the helpless _reverence_ he can hear.

The agony is still sharp as Zitao rides down on Jongdae’s cock, but there’s an undercurrent of satisfaction at being stuffed full of cock too, his body finally seems to open up, welcome Jongdae inside of him as he’s done dozens and dozens of times before. He muffles a wet gasp against Jongdae’s cheek when he drops his hips hard into Jongdae’s lap, feeling the sudden jolt of pleasure in his nerves when Jongdae’s thick cock pushed up against his prostate.

‘Chen, Chenchen,’ he manages, his own cock slowly hardening as he kept riding Jongdae.

‘Tao,’ he hears Jongdae say, his voice anchoring Zitao for a moment. ‘Taozi. Tell me.’

Zitao buries his face into Jongdae’s neck, still gripping his hair, wanting him as close as possible. ‘Please, please, fuck me.’

‘It hurts, you’re hurt,’ murmurs Jongdae into Zitao’s ear, even as Zitao refuses to stop, his hips in motion, trying to ride Jongdae’s cock.

‘ _Please_ ,’ he begs, smearing his tears against the skin of Jongdae’s neck. ‘Please, _please_ \- I’m yours, so take - need you to take, Chenchen, _please_.’

‘Mine,’ says Jongdae, voice low, his hands ghosting down Zitao’s torso before cupping his ass. ‘Only mine.’

‘Ch- _en_.’

In a motion, Zitao’s lying flat on the couch cushions, still holding onto Jongdae. The shift in position makes a fresh wave of pain wash over Zitao, but he grits his teeth, rides it through, as Jongdae pushes his cock inside of him.

The pain didn’t matter. Not when Zitao had Jongdae pressed up against him, arms caging Zitao in, mouth hovering just above Zitao’s ear, his soft hair still in Zitao’s desperate grip as he hides in the crook of Jongdae’s neck. This is what he wants after all - surrounded by Jongdae, completely ready to be consumed.

‘Chen,’ he begs again, squeezing his thighs around Jongdae’s hips, ankles locking together at the small of his back.

‘Tell me again,’ says Jongdae, his voice raw, even as he starts to thrust into Zitao’s body.

Zitao only presses his face closer against Jongdae’s neck, chest twisting up at the _beg_ \- Jongdae is _begging_ him. ‘Yours, I’m yours, please.’

It’s enough of an encouragement. Jongdae fucks him hard and deep, utterly selfish, just as Zitao wants. His cock feels too big, too thick, but Zitao arches anyway, wanting it deeper, hearing his own broken moans as each thrust dragged Jongdae’s thick cock over his sweet spot. He’s getting harder and harder, his own cock arching above his stomach, trapped under the still-clothed torso of Jongdae as Jongdae fucks him.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ rambles Zitao, feeling the pain push up against the pleasure, loving the feeling of Jongdae fucking him. He claws at Jongdae’s scalp, hissing at the friction of when his cock rubs up against Jongdae’s shirt. ‘Don’t stop, please don’t stop.’

‘I’ll fuck you how I want,’ snarls Jongdae, sounding utterly wrecked. Zitao moans, melting under the pleasure, the submission.

Jongdae’s never fucked him slowly, gently, carefully, and now is no exception. There isn’t even a pause for Zitao to readjust position, to be able to ride back on Jongdae’s cock. He’s pinned down and unable to move, unable to do anything but moan brokenly and _take it_.

It feels so fucking good now - Zitao’s own dick hard and smearing precome between his stomach and Jongdae’s shirt, spitting out more every time Jongdae’s cock grinds hard into his prostate. He’s breathless with all his noises, can’t even form Jongdae’s name, when all Jongdae does is hold him down and fuck him, use him, use his tight ass to work over his cock.

‘So fucking hot for it,’ groans Jongdae, hips slapping against Zitao’s ass, ‘all for me - _fuck_ \- all mine to fuck when I want, how I want - ’

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ Zitao gasps out, imagining it - imagining Jongdae fucking him anywhere, everywhere, using him up against the wall, bent over the balcony railing, pressed against the one of the floor-to-ceiling windows on the upper floors of the fucking Kim conglomerate office building - reminding Zitao all that he possessed, all that Zitao had now too.

‘No one else will fuck you like I do,’ he promises. ‘No one else will give this to you.’

‘Just you, just yours,’ agrees Zitao, his orgasm building in his gut. ‘Fuck, fuck, Chenchen - ’

‘Gonna fill you up,’ and Jongdae is pumping his cock faster now, rhythm faltering. Zitao feels so stretched open, letting each twitch of his body clench down on Jongdae’s cock that much tighter for that burn of friction on his rim. ‘Going to make you leak, going to remind you who owns you.’

‘Oh f-fuck,’ stutters Zitao, getting so so so close to the edge now that Jongdae was fucking him so quick now, his prostate practically being milked with each thrust. ‘Chen - Chen, Chenchen, Chen - ’

Jongdae groans. ‘That’s right, own this too,’ and punctuates the words with half a dozen hard slams into Zitao’s ass, making Zitao scream - all his nerves alight with pain and pleasure, and his mind blanks out as he comes.

Jongdae fucks him through it - ruthless and mean, pounds out the orgasm so that Zitao’s voice is raw from his cries. Even as his body tries to come down from its high, he keeps holding into Jongdae, keeps milking Jongdae’s cock with each thrust, wanting to be used up completely.

It doesn’t take long - not when Zitao is so tight and hot around Jongdae’s cock already, now trying to drag out the friction, all his fucked-out gasps pressed against Jongdae’s skin, needing to be the one who makes Jongdae comes, needing to be the one Jongdae uses for his own satisfaction.

Zitao feels him shudder hard as he comes, moaning long and low as he grinds his cock, making sure Zitao was filled up entirely. Jongdae pumps his cock slowly, hissing under his breath, as he spills line after line of come, hips flexing against Zitao’s ass as he tries to get as deep as he can.

It’s a warm feeling, even after Jongdae pulls out. The pain still stings through Zitao, but it doesn’t compare to the comforting weight of Jongdae on top of him, keeping Zitao pinned so he can do nothing but receive Jongdae’s kisses - long and lingering and so full of adoration that he could cry all over again. It’s between one kiss and the next that Zitao passes out, wrapped up in the blanket of Jongdae’s attention.

-

It’s a few hours later when Zitao wakes up, finding himself in bed, still naked but tucked under the duvet. Sliding his hand over his stomach, he finds the come has been cleaned off his skin, and registers the soreness spread along his muscles, his ass stinging with pain from being fucked dry.

He’s on his back when he wakes up, and it takes a moment for him to realize that he has company. Beside him, Jongdae is dozing, his face softened so he looks years younger than he is, but he’s lying with space between them.

Without thinking, Zitao reaches out, his fingers brushing over the pretty curve of Jongdae’s mouth.

Jongdae’s eyes snap open immediately. ‘Tao.’

‘Come closer,’ he whines, missing the weight and comfort of Jongdae’s body against his.

‘Didn’t want to add to the pain,’ replies Jongdae but acquiesces. On his side, he swings an arm across Zitao’s torso, mouth tucked against the curve of Zitao’s shoulder, his lashes low over his eyes as if to spare Zitao the intensity. ‘If you can move, I’ll run a bath for you.’

‘That means standing up for showering first.’

‘I’ll help you.’

‘Taking care of me?’ Zitao asks softly.

The reply is immediate: ‘Yes.’

‘I can’t move,’ he says. ‘It hurts.’

Jongdae doesn’t look apologetic just as Zitao expected; he nods. ‘Yeah. No more for at least a week.’

Zitao blinks. ‘No sex for a week, Chenchen? Will you be okay?’

He bites Zitao’s shoulder as a scold. ‘What about _you_ \- no plugs either for a week.’

‘I’m just worried you’ll forget how to fuck me after the week’s over,’ he says, a grin peeking out.

‘I need to learn how to fuck the brat out of you,’ replies Jongdae, digging his nails into Zitao’s side for a pinch.

Unable to help it, Zitao laughs, trying to lean closer into Jongdae. Propping himself on his elbow, Jongdae ducks down to kiss him. It’s soft, careful, and seemingly neverending - every time Zitao thinks Jongdae will pull away, he dips down again, nipping gently at Zitao’s lips.

‘Chenchen,’ exhales Zitao, lulled by the languidity of each kiss.

‘Hm?’ He doesn’t pull away, just ghosts his mouth over Zitao’s cheek, staying close.

‘You hurt me,’ says Zitao softly.

‘Yes.’

‘You probably made me bleed.’

‘Yes.’

Zitao can only watch from below his lashes as Jongdae leaves airy kisses over his cheekbone, up towards his temple. ‘You make me cry.’

‘Yes.’

‘Will you do it again?’

_That_ at least makes Jongdae pause, lying back down on his side with a contemplative expression.

‘I don’t want to,’ he says finally.

‘Someday you will.’

Jongdae closes his eyes. ‘Yes.’

‘But.’ For a moment, Zitao hesitates. ‘But you’ll take care of me, right?’

‘Zitao,’ says Jongdae, watching him, gaze black and intense. ‘Don’t ever think I won’t.’

‘I - I just want to hear it again.’ He sucks in a breath. ‘That you want me here.’

‘ _Zitao_ ,’ repeats Jongdae, pushing himself up on his elbow, looking over Zitao, eyes unblinking as he talks slowly and clearly. ‘I told you everything and you chose me instead of leaving, even after I made sure to make you fucking bleed.’ He pushes the blanket down and places his hand over Zitao’s throat, resting the weight there but not tightening his grip.

He can’t look away now, not when he can feel the brand of Jongdae’s palm over his neck. Just stares up at the endless black of Jongdae’s eyes and hopes he doesn’t drown.

‘You think I just want you?’ Jongdae continues, leaning in. ‘I _need_ you. And you chose me and you’re mine now.’

Zitao swallows around the knot in his throat. ‘No one else?’

The serious expression on Jongdae’s face seems to crack, the corners of his mouth curving into a smile. ‘There’s never going to be anyone else.’

Reaching up, Zitao lays his hand over Jongdae’s, feeling the warmth of it, holding on. ‘I love you,’ he says simply, watching the surprise register on Jongdae’s face.

‘Tao,’ he starts, stops. ‘I’m - a bad person.’

‘Yes,’ says Zitao, feeling unexpectedly light now that he’s said it out loud, admitted it to both himself and Jongdae. ‘Yeah - I know. I know and I still love you.’

For a moment, Jongdae seems completely caught off-guard, staring down at Zitao in wonder. Then he laughs - soft, incredulous - making all the sharp angles of his face relax, and Zitao just wants to say it again, wants to see Jongdae’s face so open and warm and happy more often. ‘Chenchen.’

‘I’ve ruined you,’ he laughs, kissing Zitao with a grin so wide their teeth click.

He’s right, thinks Zitao. All the excess, the indulgence, all that Zitao wants and tries to muffle - trying not to be too much, too overwhelming, too needy - it all comes spilling out with Jongdae, and Jongdae only adores him even more for it. Months ago, he would never have been okay with where he is now, but it doesn’t matter. For all of Zitao’s wants, Jongdae is there, and now Zitao can give him something back.

‘I’ll - I’ll learn what you need, now that I know what you do,’ and Zitao squeezes Jongdae’s hand on his neck, ‘like you do for me.’

Jongdae pulls away his hand, dislodging Zitao’s grip, only to dip down and sink his teeth into the skin. The bite is unexpected, has Zitao gasping, even as Jongdae pulls back for a moment to murmur, ‘my Taozi,’ in a low, reverent tone. ‘My perfect Taozi.’

Zitao shivers, his hands coming up to tangle in Jongdae’s hair. ‘Do you think…’

‘Hm?’

‘Will you ever - _ah_ \- ’ He arches as Jongdae bites again, sucking on the skin to leave behind an obvious mark. ‘Chen…’

‘Going to finish that thought?’ Jongdae asks, and Zitao can feel the sly grin against his adam’s apple.

Huffing, Zitao tugs on his hair in retaliation before steeling himself, anxious about what he’s going to ask. ‘Do you think you’ll ever love me?’

There’s a moment where Jongdae is utterly still and Zitao is terrified he’s ruined this moment, won’t get to savour Jongdae’s softness any longer by asking for this much already. Always, always, Zitao just wants more, too greedy for anyone -

Jongdae lifts his head, looking down at Zitao with his brows furrowed. ‘Of course I do.’

Zitao blinks.

Then Jongdae is laughing again, loud and clear, his entire face scrunching up. It takes a moment for him to calm down, looking down at Zitao with an exasperated expression. ‘I want to carve my name into your skin, I want everyone to know you belong to me, I want you to only want me,’ he says, ‘and you still think I don’t love you.’

‘I just - ’ Zitao pouts, knowing he’s being mocked. ‘Maybe I just wanted to hear you say it.’

‘Is that it?’ There’s laughter underneath the words but Jongdae ducks down before Zitao can  snap something back, pressing his mouth to the shell of Zitao’s ear, murmurs, ‘yes, I love you, my pretty perfect Taozi,’ low and sweet enough for Zitao to shudder.

‘Chenchen.’ Zitao arches a little, feeling his skin warm up, and tips his head to the side, moans under his breath when Jongdae takes the invitation and bites down.

‘Not going to fuck you,’ replies Jongdae, scraping his teeth down the tendon to nip at his collarbone. ‘A week, remember?’

He can’t help it - makes a frustrated noise that has Jongdae laughing at him. ‘Fine. Help me shower then.’

‘C’mon then.’

Jongdae gets out of the bed first, then eases Zitao up, looping an arm around Zitao’s waist and letting Zitao nuzzle into his hair as he limps towards the bathroom.

While Jongdae helps Zitao shower, Zitao catches sight of Zhu Que’s tail feathers lining Jongdae’s upper thigh, trying to imagine the four people they signify, and thinks it doesn’t matter, not anymore. No matter what Jongdae did, he needed Zitao at the end of the day, and Zitao couldn’t leave him even if he tried.

-

A week later, Zitao finds himself driving Yixing to the airport, trying not to duck his head under Yixing’s gaze as Yixing watches him. As much as he had tried to explain, tried to rationalize what he felt, what he wanted - wanted _Jongdae_ , even with all the things Jongdae had done, will do - Yixing hadn’t seemed to understand.

Eventually though, he had relented, and agreed to go back to Qingdao to report to the family that Zitao was doing just fine with his new husband.

‘I’ll come visit soon, maybe during the winter,’ says Zitao, trying to fill the silence, knowing Yixing was appraising him even now, trying to figure out how Zitao had shifted from suspicion to acceptance. ‘I can come alone - if you want.’

‘No,’ says Yixing softly. ‘Bring Jongdae. Show him your home.’

‘I’d like that.’

‘Then you should.’

Zitao rolls the words in his mouth. ‘I know how you feel about him.’

‘It doesn’t matter how I feel.’ Finally, Yixing looks away, stares straight ahead as they drive down the highway. ‘You’ve made your choice, Taotao, and you should stay true to it.’

‘Yes,’ says Zitao finally. ‘You’re right.’

-

When he comes back to the apartment that evening, Jongdae has dinner ready in the kitchen. Zitao stands there in the kitchen entrance for a moment, unable to look away from Jongdae, decides there’s no use in nursing the ache in his chest at Yixing’s departure. He’d made his choice.

After carefully scooping the rice into two bowls, Jongdae wipes his hands clean, then looks up, smiles at the sight of Zitao simply standing there. ‘You’re back.’

‘Yixing’s gone,’ he says. ‘Only me now.’

Propping his hip against the edge of the counter, Jongdae spreads his arms open, an invitation. ‘Come here.’

Zitao goes and doesn’t think of looking back.

-

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is so extra [face in hands]; anyway, I hope you enjoyed~!


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